


In Delay There Lies No Plenty

by afterandalasia



Category: Cinderella (1950), Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe – 1840s, Broken Bones, Competence Kink, Crossover Relationship, F/F, Feudal Lord/Handmaiden, Hurt/Comfort, Id Fic, Iddy Iddy Bang Bang 2015, Loyalty Kink, Minor Anna/Kristoff (Frozen), Minor Character Death, Other Fandoms Not Mentioned in Tags, Pining, Politics, Post-Frozen (2013), Slow Burn, Unrequited Elsa/Marisol (Frozen)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5001553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Elsa is like no other Great Lord that Arendelle has ever had - and not just because of her powers. She is trying to rebuild Arendelle and herself at the same time, trying to make a life out of her own shattered pieces. When she seeks out a handmaiden, it is not for the usual experience that might be desired - she asks for discretion, loyalty and education.</p><p>The woman that she hires, Cinderella, is not like any handmaiden to a Lord either. Confident, erudite, but with a past about which she does not speak, she quickly becomes an invaluable part of Lord Elsa's life. More so than ever when news from allies and once-allies alike starts to change the world around them.</p><p>But in the end, strange though it seems, it is not the machinations of the world that strike closest to Lord Elsa. Sometimes all that it takes is a fall, and she finds that she needs to redefine the walls that she has drawn around herself, and the role which Cinderella has come to play in her life.</p><p> </p><p>Not Frozen Fever compliant. Cinderella canon divergence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Iddy Iddy Bang Bang 2015](http://iddyiddybangbang.dreamwidth.org/) \- thank you so much, iddybangmod, for running this fest! My contribution turned out to be more trope than porn and developed a plot, but in the end when faced with decisions I went with what my id wanted, and I hope that places me firmly in the spirit of the thing.
> 
> For anyone who did not come across the Feudal Lord/Handmaiden meme, it started on tumblr when somebody compared a femslash pairing to a 'feudal lord and handmaiden' in what was probably an attempt to say that they were butch and femme. The phrase quickly outgrew their meta and became a joke in femslash fandom, with some great memes and art. But sadly, I have not seen any fic, and essentially took it upon myself to do so.
> 
> Title taken from Emilie Autumn's "O, Mistress Mine", which sources its lyrics from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, Act II, Scene III.
> 
> For the iddiest parts of this fic, skip straight to chapters three onwards.
> 
> For the 'other fandoms', they are brief mentions and basically a way of avoiding making OCs in most places. The Princess and the Frog, Sofia the First, Brave, and Phineas and Ferb will get cameos, as does the Guardians of Childhood book series. Tangled gets a slightly larger role, but not enough to be tagged.

Wearing her Sunday best had been the best idea which Cinderella could think of at the time, but now she was beginning to regret it. It was tighter than she was used to, longer, and felt restrictive as she tried to walk calmly along the corridor to the Reinrose Parlour where she had been called to meet with the Lord Elsa.

It was not unheard of for servants to be called to a meeting with their Lord, of course, but Cinderella had never met with the Lord Agdar, nor his heir Elsa, even since everything that had happened the previous summer. But on this occasion she had been summoned, and Gerda – Mrs. Lunde, but she allowed the parlour maids to use her first name between themselves – had passed the message along to Cinderella with the crisp comment that she did not have any further information on what the Lord Elsa wanted and thus it would be no use to ask.

The clock was just chiming the hour as she reached the door to the Parlour and took a deep, steadying breath. She hesitated at the door, not quite certain of what would be expected of her, then rapped at the wood to signal her presence before letting herself into the room.

Lord Elsa was standing at the window, looking out over the city with one hand at the hilt of the sword on her hip. For a moment Cinderella was struck by the figure that she made, her immaculately cut coat – but no, it was not cut, was it, Lord Elsa had no handmaid assigned to dress her and it was known that she formed her suits from the very ice over which she had such power – glittering in the soft light of the spring evening. Then Cinderella caught herself and quickly turned her eyes to the floor again, with a curtsey on shaking knees. Great Lords, like the line of the rulers of Arendelle, were striking enough, of course, but it was the magic which Lord Elsa wore so confidently that took the breath from Cinderella's lungs.

"Miss Tremaine," said Lord Elsa, turning from the window and sweeping an arm to encompass the desk which stood to her left. "Please, be seated."

"Thank you, my Lord," Cinderella replied. She crossed to the desk, wondering for a moment whether she should walk round to pull out the chair on Lord Elsa's side of the desk. She was a parlour maid, yes, and not a kitchen maid, but usually that would be the work of the footmen who were not in the room with them. Before she could walk round, though, Lord Elsa took her own seat, crossing in confident strides and sinking into the chair while it was still some way back from the desk.

Lord Elsa folded her hands in her lap, feet planted squarely on the ground and shoulders back. Cinderella sat down carefully, doing her best not to look too meek despite being in the presence of the Lord.

"Now," said Lord Elsa, "I have no doubt that you would like to know why I have asked you here, and I will be plain about it." She paused long enough for a breath. "I am looking to take you on as my handmaiden."

For the first instant, Cinderella was quite sure that she must have been mistaken. She caught Lord Elsa's eyes without even thinking about it; if this had been the message passed to her, she would have presumed that it was a misunderstanding at best, a prank at worst. The expression on Lord Elsa's face, however, composed but with something troubled about her eyes, stilled any disbelief before it reached her tongue.

Instead, Cinderella cleared her throat. "Begging your pardon, my Lord. But I am no handmaiden."

"You must appreciate," the Lord continued, as calmly as if Cinderella had not just contradicted her, "that your tasks will not include all of those which are usually asked of handmaidens. You will be required to work with a wardrobe, and I am quite capable of handling my own bathing. I will not expect you to take chambers adjoining my own. However, care of my chambers will be expected of you, the provision of breakfast, and on some occasions I may require assistance with my jewellery or hair. The largest task which I will ask of you, however, will be in the taking of letters and dealing with correspondence. It is for this reason that I requested you for this role."

She spoke firmly, even confidently, and had not asked Cinderella to avert her eyes as some Lords would almost certainly have done. It was still a strange request, though, especially to have been done by request and almost as if it were an interview. But of course, Lord Elsa had never been assigned a handmaiden; when she was twelve, the usual age that a Lord would given their first handmaiden – often older, almost always temporary, to help the Lord learn their role well – none was given to her, nor the younger Lord Anna. People had wondered whether the Lord Agdar would be _modernising_ things, but of course in hindsight that had not been the case at all.

The instincts vied within her to accept her Lord's request and to point out, quite honestly, that she had no training as a handmaiden and had never expected to fill such a role. Mercifully, Lord Elsa did not push her for a response, and waited patiently as Cinderella decided that she would have to go with her own feelings about the role and not simply give the answer that it would be most pleasing to hear.

"I thank you for the opportunity, my Lord," she said, "and would be honoured to take on the position."

For the first time that she had seen, Lord Elsa smiled. Only small, and only careful, but it made her look much younger and less intimidating. "It pleases me to hear it," she said. "Your duties will begin tomorrow. I will inform Mrs. Lunde, and you will not be expected to report to her with the other servants. I take breakfast at six o'clock in my chambers, and will then inform you of your other duties. Is that all sufficiently clear?"

"Yes, my Lord," said Cinderella. It was not much to start with, certainly, but she would be free to pick apart what information she had at her leisure. Six o'clock, though early compared to what she had heard many handmaidens could expect, was later than she currently started work, and if she did not need to care for Lord Elsa's wardrobe then it could frankly mean significantly less work than she currently faced.

"Very well, then," Lord Elsa said, with a deep breath. "If you have any questions, you may ask them of myself or of Mrs. Lunde. Likewise, if you wish to withdraw from the position in the first fortnight or so – if you find that it is not working out for you – you will not be censured and will be able to return to your previous position. Or if there is nothing further, you may leave."

For a moment, Cinderella paused, but if truth be told there were no questions that sprang straight to mind and relatively few that she thought she would need to ask at all. Everyone knew at least the idea of what handmaidens did, although Cinderella was not wholly sure of how things might change because Lord Elsa was, well, Lord Elsa. Serving the Snow Lord – and oh, but that name was known in Arendelle even if it had originated elsewhere – could hardly be the job a handmaiden would expect.

Instead, she got to her feet, carefully putting one hand on the arm of the chair so that it did not scrape on the parquet floor which someone would have needed to so carefully polish. "Thank you for your time, my Lord," she said, with another small curtsey, and turn to let herself out of the room.

 

 

 

 

As the door closed behind Cinderella Tremaine, Elsa let out a huge sigh of relief and slumped down in her chair. She closed her eyes and raised one hand to her forehead, gathering the returned quiet of the room around her like a blanket.

It should not have been such a terrifying thought to speak to someone about their becoming her handmaiden. Normally, any Lord – never mind a ruling Great Lord – would have a handmaiden from a young age, but with everything...

Elsa looked at her hands, even without their gloves, and sighed. The hardest part was not dealing with her own past; it was trying to make up for everything, for anything, that had been done to Anna. By rights, Anna should have had a handmaiden as well, and a normal, Lord's life. That her life had led her to Kristoff might make up for some of it, but it could not undo the years that Anna had needed to endure to get there.

But whatever Elsa might have preferred, it would have been unthinkable to appoint a handmaiden for Anna when she did not have one for herself. And so Elsa found herself with the uncomfortable task of trying to find a complete stranger whom she could let into every part of her life.

It was not that she objected to the idea of handmaidens, or even thought that it would be distasteful. It was simply that whenever she attempted to picture herself with a handmaiden working in her room, arranging her hair, simply being so close to her all of the time, she felt the old tightness grip her chest and the trail of cold fingers up her spine. She had already decided that she would largely keep Cinderella’s duties to the upkeep of her room and to the taking of letters; the latter would certainly be welcome, and she knew full well that other lands looked for one hand to take correspondence and another to sign it.

To say that the choice had been made solely for the fair hand which Cinderella had, however, would be unfair. Elsa had spoken at some length with Mrs. Lunde about who among her staff might be suitable – someone honest, diligent, and not prone to gossip – and Cinderella had every quality that Elsa might hope for. All save experience, of course, but Elsa could not help feeling that was something learned rather than innate, and thus only desirable rather than necessary. She was quite well-educated for a servant, Mrs. Lunde had added, but would give by way of explanation only that her father had taught her well.

Perhaps there was that, as well, if she would admit it to herself. She dropped her hand to her mouth, curling it into a fist to rest her knuckles on her lips. Cinderella had been working at the Castle since she was barely fifteen, only just old enough to live and work alone, and Gerda had said that even then she had been so dutiful that she had requested permission to hire her from Lord Agdar. She would not talk about her past, Gerda said, but had a sadness about her which suggested that there was not much to go back to.

Far from the typical handmaiden, raised for the role and dedicated to it from the moment that they were old enough to understand. But Elsa knew that she was far from the typical Lord, and could only hope that somehow it would work.

 

 

 

 

She would have anticipated that Lord Elsa was not the sort of Lord to stay abed until midday, and Cinderella was not put out by rising early, dressing as she usually did, and immediately heading to the kitchens rather than to the servants’ mess to receive her tasks for the day. Jaq was still asleep, head under the pillow and gently snoring to herself, as Cinderella left their small room and closed the door as quietly as she could. Not that it really mattered, when Jaq was capable of sleeping through just about anything, but a precaution nonetheless.

She was greeted with a nod in the kitchens, and ushered over to where some breakfast had been kept back for her after the other servants had eaten. It was cold, but that did not trouble her, and she stood out of the way in a corner of the kitchen as she watched the cooks put together Lord Elsa’s breakfast. Just as she was wiping down her plate with bread, they finished, placing a silver cover over røkt laks smørrebrød and omelette, bread, brunost and geitost, and hot strong coffee besides. He nodded to Cinderella, who scooped the tray up easily and slipped to the servants’ staircase without disrupting them as the kitchen started to get into gear for the day.

She had served breakfast for her stepmother and stepsisters, years before. This was easier, Cinderella supposed; all that she had to do was take the food to Lord Elsa. Besides, she did not have to worry about mistreatment this time. She took the stairs with light steps, dipped through doorways, and paused for a moment at the servant’s entrance to Lord Elsa’s room wondering whether she should announce herself before entering.

No, she decided firmly, this was her employment now. Holding her head high, then catching herself and lowering it demurely as a handmaiden should, she let herself into the room.

Lord Elsa was sitting at the wide mahogany desk, a book open in front of her. She was already dressed, in a shimmering blue-white shirt of ice, deeper blue breeches and waistcoat, and knee-high boots that gleamed in the early morning light. Her hair was in its customary braid over one shoulder, studded with icy crystals, but she did not yet have the coat which she usually wore over the top. Cinderella almost went to look for it in the room, before catching herself; doubtless Lord Elsa would produce it when she wished, rather than needing to worry about it waiting for her.

“Good morning, my Lord,” said Cinderella, with the deepest curtsey that she could manage with both of her hands on the tray. “I have bought your breakfast.”

“Thank you, Miss Tremaine.” Lord Elsa slid a bookmark into place and placed the book aside, even smiling in Cinderella’s direction. Not sure how she was supposed to respond, Cinderella placed the tray carefully down, and when Lord Elsa did not react set about pouring the coffee. “That correspondence has until now been delivered to my office. In future, I wish for you to bring that correspondence with my breakfast.”

Not always the expected task of a handmaiden, but serving a Great Lord could hardly be expected to be just the same as serving a lesser one. “Yes, my Lord,” she said. “I will make sure of it.”

Lord Elsa paused, and Cinderella was not sure whether it might have been a hesitation if coming from another, but never since the coronation and its aftermath had the Lord seemed anything other than fully composed and collected when in public. “It was not censure,” she said after a moment. “You need not be concerned.”

There was not much that Cinderella could do but stand back and stay quiet as Lord Elsa ate, small careful bites between sips of coffee. She looked up part way through, when the silence had tarried just long enough to be awkward, and nodded to one of the chairs by the window. “You may be seated, if you wish,” she said. “In future, I will likely have you read from my correspondence during this time. I apologise for not considering it.”

Not sure quite how she ought to respond, Cinderella opted for a curtsey, this one deeper now that her hands were free. “Thank you, my Lord.” She perched on one of the seats beside the window, and when Lord Elsa looked away again took the opportunity to look around the room.

It was not that no servant had ever entered Lord Elsa’s chambers; that would have been absurd. There had always been the tasks of sweeping the floor, cleaning the windows, changing her bedlinens, or removing her clothes to be taken down to the laundry and cleaned. The laundry might no longer be such a concern, but it was known that Lord Elsa did still wear normal clothes from time to time, and the cleaning remained. _Tidying_ , however, had been entirely a different story, and rumours had flown around the castle for years that Lord Elsa not only dressed herself and attended to her own hair, but kept her own room so tidy that no servant needed to tarry to do so. As a result, it was one of relatively few rooms in the castle that was not visited on a daily basis by one or more of the servants.

Until now, of course. Cinderella kept her head bowed but allowed her eyes to wander, taking in the bed with its four posts and drapes in Arendelle’s royal colours, the bookshelves that lined the longest of the walls, and the doors which would presumably lead to the bathroom and the wardrobe. A violin stood on one of the shelves, and she wondered if Lord Elsa played or if it was there for her viewing pleasure, a curiosity.

Lord Elsa ate quickly, though with markedly less mess than could sometimes be found in the servants’ quarters when the mood was playful and some particularly nice fare was available but in limited supply. It was not at all long, by the hands of the clock, before she was patting her lips with the napkin and setting the tray aside.

“I am to meet with Mrs. Lunde before going to my study,” she said, without looking round. “If you would meet me there.”

It was a statement, not a request, but still far from having the sternness of an order about it. Cinderella hurriedly rose and removed the tray, stepping aside as Lord Elsa rose to her feet and turned away. She was about to leave when she saw a flourish of the Lord’s hands from the corner of her eye, and could not help stopping to look around for a moment.

Lord Elsa rolled her hands over one another, as if she was winding wool, then with a dancer’s grace swept them to before her chest and out, until her arms were fully extended. Ice followed the movements of her hands, the more subdued, matte look of it matching the breeches that she wore as it wove itself into a tailcoat that perfectly fitted Lord Elsa’s body, ending precisely at her wrists where they were extended. Rolling her shoulders, Lord Elsa tugged at the cuffs and adjusted the lapels, no doubt testing the fit, but Cinderella could not think of a tailor that could do better. The air felt bright and fresh, with the clean smell of fresh snow in it, and as Cinderella watched the jacket sunk in through the Lord’s braid to sit flush against her back, without the hair even having to be moved.

She opened the servant’s door as quietly as she could, not wishing to disturb the moment, and let herself out. Lord Elsa had made public displays of magic in the past, of course, creating impromptu icing rinks and sculptures of ice, but there was something markedly personal about the creation of the jacket that made Cinderella feel just a little privileged for having witnessed it. Then again, she told herself, it was the lot of a handmaiden to be privy to rather more of the secrets of her Lord. These were simply somewhat different secrets.

 

 

 

 

It was going well, or so Elsa hoped. Of course, less than a morning had passed, but fear had not immediately overcome her at the thought of having someone in her room and constantly around. The more that she had thought on the matter, the more that she had reassured herself that she could only spend as much time around Cinderella Tremaine as she needed to; or, perhaps just as accurately, could continue to spend as much time alone as she needed to. Despite having been considering taking a handmaiden for months, somehow it had become infinitely more real the moment that Cinderella had stepped into the room that morning.

By the time that she had spoken to Mrs. Lunde, the sun was rising and the castle was drifting ever-closer to being fully awake. Elsa strode through the halls, more eager than she would admit to make it to her office without being disturbed, and only at the doorway did she see another individual. The footman waiting at the door opened it smartly for her, his eyes fixed on the distance, and closed it behind her afterwards.

Her office had always been a different sort of sanctuary from her room. It was the place where she was simply a Great Lord, as her father had been before her, and it did not matter her sex or her age or the magic in her touch.

Cinderella was already waiting, beside the desk with her hands folded and her eyes turned appropriately down. She was not wearing the dress that she had been the previous day, Elsa could not help but note, but she had moved more comfortably in the simpler blouse and skirt which she now wore.

“Thank you,” she said, by way of greeting, as Cinderella swept another of her curtseys. They were better than those of most servants that Elsa had seen, and together with Cinderella’s precise enunciation and apparently good education, Elsa could not help but wonder what her story might be. Mrs. Lunde had said that it was not something which Cinderella had discussed, however, and Elsa of all people knew the importance of secrets. “Has my correspondence been delivered?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Cinderella waved a hand to the neat pile of letters beside her.

It was larger than usual. Unable to keep a straight face, Elsa smiled wryly, and walked around her desk to take her seat. “Well, then. If you would care to bring over a chair, it seems that there is some work to be done.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Cinderella’s lips, then she looked away and retrieved one of the chairs that stood against the walls. Despite the solid weight of the wooden chair, she lifted it off the floor rather than dragging it over; Elsa wondered whether it was to be quieter.

She almost reached for her letter opener and correspondence herself, before catching the movement and sitting back in her chair instead. Cinderella set down her chair beside Elsa’s, turned so that she was facing Elsa’s side and closer to the edge of the desk. When she sat down, it put her right beside the letters and in a surprisingly good place to present them to Elsa if asked. She hesitated, looking up to catch Elsa’s eyes for a moment before looking away again, and Elsa was not sure whether to be relieved that neither quite knew their roles or embarrassed to be so uncertain as well.

“If you would open the first letter,” she said.

A silver letter-opener, its handle in the shape of a crocus, ways always laid beside the letters by the servant who placed them there. Elsa was not sure whom it was, simply that the letters were always waiting for her. Now Cinderella picked up the first of the letters and used the letter opener to break the seal, unfolding a long letter on fine paper. Elsa pulled across a sheet of paper of her own, and set about putting together her pen and ink.

“ _My dear cousin_ ,” read Cinderella, then looked up in surprise.

“Lord Rapunzel of Corona is my second cousin,” Elsa said, though she was quite sure that was public knowledge. Lord Rapunzel had even been present at her coronation, and surprisingly relations between their countries had grown better after that time. “Continue.”

Cinderella cleared her throat. “ _Many thanks for your kind letter, which I received three days ago. I continue to be well, and Eugene’s ankle is much improved. He is still not happy with being teased about his riding skills, though!_

“ _I have been in talks with my Lord father about a longer diplomatic visit, and although he is still not sure my Lord mother is supportive. I think that she hopes to visit her mother’s homeland, and she has said to me that she might even try to persuade him that they might visit instead. I would like them to be comfortable enough to do so, but I know that if they do, I will have to rule for a while in his place. It is still frightening. I may be twenty, but I have only been a Lord for two years, and I am still having a lot of lessons on everything that I need. Your letters have been a great help to me on that front._

“ _With regards to making Kristoff a Lord, I do not know how similar Arendellen and Coronan law are on this count, but Eugene is going to be officially made a lord at midsummer. I think he is still getting used to the idea! Some of my father’s ministers have been more of a problem, but that is not because Eugene is from a common background but because of his past as a thief. My father is impressing on them how much Eugene has done for Corona, and how he represents that anyone can change for the better. I am trying to help, but I am not as eloquent as him. I can only learn from him._

“ _From what you say about Kristoff, you might have some problems persuading him to be a Lord, but I don’t think your Ministers would be able to complain. If they make a fuss, you could always give them the option of making Kristoff a Lord or having your sister marry a non-Lord! That worked with some of my father’s ministers when he said it!_

“ _I absolutely agree that Maximus and Sven should meet, but I am not sure how we could arrange it! Maximus gets terribly seasick – it’s a good thing that he can’t read that I’m telling you that! – and I don’t think he would do well on a boat._

“ _I’m sorry to cut my letter so short, but there is another meeting and though my father does not insist on my attending, he likes me to do so. I look forward to your next letter._

“ _Forever your devoted cousin and friend,_

“ _Lord Rapunzel of Corona._ ”

Cinderella had a pleasant reading voice, calm and measured, with just enough lightness to her words to convey Rapunzel’s enthusiasm. Strange, Elsa thought, that even though two handmaidens she could still hear her cousin’s voice and see the smile on her face. She glanced over to see Rapunzel’s looping signature at the base of the neatly-penned letter, and made a note on her own paper.

“Thank you. I will most likely respond in a day or two, once I have further looked into making Kristoff a Lord. There are always ships to Corona these days.”

With Weselton no longer a trading partner, and the Southern Isles a cautious ally at best, Corona had risen in economic importance for Arendelle. They were reaching out to make new allies as well; Dunbroch was responsive, Maldonia interested, Drusselstein cautious. Enchancia had already made agreements to trade, and Elsa had found the King to be refreshingly direct in his approach.

Cinderella folded up the letter, placed it to the side, and picked up the next. “Would you like me to continue, my Lord?”

“Yes, please do.”

The next letter was not necessarily less welcome, but was less personal. Another positive message from her emissary to Maldonia, outlining his conversations with representatives of the King and Queen, with the usual optimistic tone. It would require only a brief response, and to ascertain when the next ship would be leaving for Maldonia or a country which traded more closely with them. Elsa made a note, and they moved on again.

It was surprisingly comfortable to go through her correspondence in such a way, and though she had thought that hearing the letters read aloud might frustrate her by being slower, Elsa found that it gave her more time to think over the words. It was good to have her hands free to dash down notes for any responses required, as well.

It was only after seven or eight letters, when Cinderella came to correspondence from the College of Surgeons, that she ground to a halt and shook her head. “My apologies, my Lord,” she said, with a pained expression, “but I do not understand these terms.”

“The medical professionals of this land can be somewhat over-fond of their Latin,” said Elsa. She did not add that on occasion she had also found herself frowning over a word or turn of phrase. “Though there are those who can be even more so.”

She had yet to meet a judge, for example, who did not fill their letters with so much Latin that it was a wonder the Arendellen could hold on around it. Elsa held out a hand for the letter, setting aside her pen, and skimmed her eyes over it as Cinderella waited. There was indeed rather more Latin than usual, and a fair sprinkling of medical terminology which Elsa only vaguely understood.

“It is about the requirements in education for the hospital to expand,” she said with a sigh. “There have been talks of opening a medical school here in Arendelle. This will require a more immediate reply.”

Elsa had checked with Mrs. Lunde, as well, that Cinderella was practiced in use of a dip pen, and had arranged for one to be purchased for her use. She produced it from her desk’s drawer, and slid it across to Cinderella. Astonishment was written on her features.

“My Lord, I... I cannot accept this.”

“You will have need of it, if you are to take dictation,” said Elsa. It was logical, surely, to give her a pen that she might take the letters which Elsa needed written. The choice had seemed obvious at the time, the ebony and steel a match for the pen which Elsa commonly used to keep the quality of the writing consistent. “If you would rather it were kept in this office, that can be arranged.”

Truth be told, that had been her intention all along, but it was all that she could think of to act as reassurance that Cinderella would not be expected to be responsible for the item at all times. Seeing the young woman hesitate, however, Elsa wished desperately that she had somebody whom she could ask about what it was to be a Lord to a handmaiden, and not just to her more distant vassals.

The silence stretched out between them, but Elsa held her ground. It was required, not some personal gift, and surely only the lack of familiarity both had with their roles.

Finally, Cinderella nodded. “Very well, my Lord. I thank you.”

Elsa took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. “It is no matter,” she said. “Now, as to this letter. I think it would be best to take a draft and then finalise it, and then I will need to write to the head of the appropriate schools as well. I keep the final list of my appointments – that is something else which you will need to take over, though it is simply compiling and double-checking the work of my minor secretary. Let us find a free time, and we shall reply.” 

Every step, she told herself, should make it just a little bit easier.

 

 

 

 

“So,” said Jaq, almost as soon as Cinderella had closed the door for the evening. “What’s it like?”

Cinderella turned to face her friend and roommate, hands on her hips. Jaq was lounging on her front on her bed, feet against the headboard, with some sort of penny dreadful open in front of her, grinning broadly. With her brown her cut short and her preference for loose clothing, many took her for a boy. The name did that no harm, either.

“What is what like?” asked Cinderella.

Jaq propped her chin in both hands. “Being a handmaiden.”

A burst of laughter left Cinderella’s lips, and she flopped down onto her own bed, kicking off her shoes as she did so. “You might as well ask what it is like to be a chambermaid! Never mind that it has only been one day.”

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean.”

She had a fair idea what Jaq meant with her question, but Cinderella was not quite sure how to put her answer. The handmaidens who people thought of were quiet women, caring for their Lord’s clothes or hair, serving them at dinner. “I’m a bit more of a higher secretary,” she admitted. It had not been too bad, reading letters and taking dictation, and only the appearance of the dip pen had truly startled her. “Tidying Lord Elsa’s room was no work at all, then there was only a small luncheon with her family so I was not serving on them, and I was actually free for a while in the afternoon until I was wanted to assist with preparing her office for a more important meeting this evening. She did not even want me to stay in.”

“Sounds important.”

“I think that it was.” Cinderella sat up to loosen the laces of her dress, and realised that she was far less fatigued than she would usually be after a day of work. Of course, there were different demands of a handmaiden, above all discretion, but it was strange to have so little physical labour in her work. She rolled her shoulders. Not stiff at all, and the stiffness in her wrist was only from writing so much after some years. “A private delegation, I think. There were no servants of ours at all in the room.”

Frowning, Jaq cocked her head. “Not even a guard?”

“Would you attack the Snow Lord?”

A pause, then Jaq shrugged in acknowledgement. Cinderella thought again of the magic that she had seen that morning, the blue ice rippling out along Lord Elsa’s skin and falling perfectly into place at the slightest turn of her wrist, and felt a cool shiver run down her spine. Lord Elsa’s clothes might be beautiful, but they were also a reminder of what she could do, so stark that she did not even need to carry a blade.

“Besides, I don’t think that Lord Elsa is looking for a traditional handmaiden. Would she have chosen me, if she were?” She pulled up her skirts to roll down her stockings, relieved to feel the cool spring air on her skin again. Visitors from other lands often complained about the cold in Arendelle, but living there made you used to it, and the ice harvesters from the more desolate northern areas were still likely to laugh at the soft city folk.

“I heard that Lord Anna might be the next to get a handmaiden,” said Jaq. She shifting her legs to dangle her feet in the air. “Think that I’ve got a chance?”

“Lord Anna does like to ride,” said Cinderella, with a smile. They both knew that Jaq was more at home with the horses than she would ever be as a handmaiden, even one as... untraditional as Lord Anna. Though very different from each other, neither of the sisters could exactly be called a stereotypical Lord. “And you did help her get that pig back into its pen that one time.”

Jaq grimaced. “Her _clothes_ afterwards, though. I’m not sure that I’d want to be responsible for that laundry. You don’t even have to do that!”

“Bedsheets do exist, you know.” Though much of the castle knew that there were still clothes that the Lord Elsa wore and wished cleaned – albeit mostly nightclothes – she refrained from mentioning them. “And who knows how things might change in the future?”

“There’s probably _someone_ with that power in the world,” said Jaq. “Making a fortune gambling somewhere.”

Her disgruntled tone was enough to make Cinderella laugh again, and she laid her stockings aside and reached for the book beside her bed. There was still a little light out, their window facing westwards, and the new gas lamps were proving very popular. The castle was changing, as if it were moving forwards in time, and Cinderella was glad to be a part of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Lord Agdar - 'Agdar' is taken from the graves at which we see Anna standing during _Do You Want to Build a Snowman_.
> 
> 2\. "røkt laks smørrebrød and omelette, bread, brunost and geitost" - røkt laks smørrebrød is essentially an open smoked salmon sandwich, and from what I can gather a common Norwegian breakfast. Brunost is whey cheese; geitost is a goat's milk variant.
> 
> 3\. The violin - we see violins on the wall during _Do You Want To Build a Snowman_ , when Anna is talking about the clocks ticking by. Kudos to [this tumblr post](http://makingtodayaperfectday.tumblr.com/post/79535082619/) for the screencaps that make this clear.
> 
> 4\. Rapunzel's letter. It's pretty well known by now that Rapunzel and Eugene can be seen on the bridge during _For the First Time in Forever_. I've made them second cousins pretty much on a whim, and so that the successions of their lands are more separate.
> 
> 5\. Yes, the pig incident is a reference to the 'dressing room' scene cut from Frozen.


	2. Chapter 2

It was easier than Elsa would ever have thought to adapt to having a handmaiden. True, even she would acknowledge that Cinderella’s tasks were as much secretary as anything else, but it seemed to work well for them. Cinderella grew more confident in the reading of letters, and her voice was pleasing to listen to even for an extended length of time. They would begin the reading in Elsa’s room as she breakfasted, then move to the study for the more official letters; water would always be waiting for Cinderella, and for that matter for Elsa when she was composing her replies.

Her chambers had always been tidy, but with Cinderella around there was an extra shine, an eye for details to which Elsa had become accustomed; her windows gleamed, the frames of pictures shone, and the scent of beeswax polish started to become a regular fixture of the rooms. Her nightgowns and dressing gowns would be laid out ready for her, and when she rode her riding gear would be waiting in case she wished to wear it. How her horse came to be prepared without her ever sending a message to the stables, she was not quite sure, but she could not be certain that was Cinderella’s doing and did not bring it up. In any case, it was appreciated.

Anna thought that the whole thing was hilarious. Apparently the thought of her Snow Lord sister with a handmaiden was one of the funniest thing that she’d heard in months.

What struck Elsa as strange, though, was how it worked. Cinderella occasionally forgot to bow her head, and sometimes would go for hours at a time without saying ‘My Lord’ if they were discussing some letter to be drafted and getting caught up in a grammatical structure or the precise word to choose when dealing with the College of Surgeons. Elsa, in turn, would occasionally have to catch herself so as not to talk with her mouth full over breakfast, or to abuse her newfound powers of touch to tickle Anna when they were supposed to be acting like the Lords they were and discussing something seriously.

She had plenty of opportunities to feel nervous over the course of the spring and early summer, of course. The first letter from the Southern Isles made her shake so badly that she had to put down her knife and fork before their movement gave her away, and was almost relieved that she did not have to read it herself.

When it turned out to be a let of apology – which began with a sub-apology for being so overdue, and a statement that Prince Hans had been tried for his crimes – she let out a shaking breath and had to ask Cinderella to re-read paragraphs when she realised that she was barely listening to what was being said.

Once alone, she allowed herself to cry in relief. She had still feared that it might escalate to war.

As she grew more used to having a handmaiden, she began to have Cinderella continue her duties even through the most important of meetings – speaking to her Minister for Defence, or the Bank of Arendelle which was still slowly creeping out of the struggles it had faced for the last decade. Notes were not taken at such meetings, but having Cinderella there to serve tea, or remove Elsa’s icy coat, or move chairs around the room, was still a relief. Stranger, Elsa found that it gave her a sort of further confidence, having another person present so that she did not face her Ministers alone. The fact that Cinderella was a servant – even a Handmaiden, the highest of servants – did not matter. To not be the only woman in the room against a wall of old men set in their old ways was something that she had not realised would be such a boon.

For such events, she provided Cinderella with new clothing, a uniform of sorts, with good-quality fabrics in Arendellen colours. She called on the dressmaker that her sister used to ensure that the dresses fitted Cinderella properly, despite Cinderella’s protests that she was quite capable of making the adjustments herself, and reminded her that she represented her Lord now.

She only felt a little guilty about how quickly Cinderella fell silent.

Midsummer approached, and with it came meals which were not just for family, but required the entertaining of guests and on more than one occasion the involvement of translators. Elsa held back from asking that Cinderella served on her; it was expected of a handmaiden, of course, but Elsa feared that it would be too personal, too intimate a move for her to be comfortable with just yet. Besides, she had done well enough without a handmaiden for many years, served by footmen in the same way as her sister or any other person at the table. They had only ever seen their father’s handmaiden from a distance, and being children had giggled at her stern posture and pious expression. Now, Elsa was fast learning what a source of strength their presence could be.

 

 

 

 

“How many people are going to be at this meal?” said Anna.

She sounded delighted with the long list of names which she had swiped from Lord Elsa’s desk in the middle of their conversation, but Elsa’s expression tolda very different story. Cinderella could not help but listen – not eavesdrop, she supposed, because Lord Elsa had grown quite comfortable with Cinderella hearing her conversations, just listen – as Lord Elsa sighed.

“A great number. Almost as many as the coronation,” she added, with a touch of bite in the words.

It was the largest event that the castle had seen since the coronation, Cinderella knew that. Larger than either of the Lords’ birthdays, which had been quiet and restrained events. The servants were a flurry of activity, cleaning and tidying, preparing rooms and opening wings that had been closed for months. Although the Midsummer Ball would not be for another two weeks now, guests had already started arriving from some of the furthest-off lands, their travel times the most unpredictable.

“Oooh, Princess Tiana and Prince Naveen are coming,” said Anna, still scrolling down the list. Lord Elsa held out her hand for it to be returned, and was soundly ignored. “Wonder if we’ll catch her asking the cook for his recipes again... and look!” she gave her older sister a decidedly wolfish grin. “Queen Marisol will be attending.”

“She is bringing some of her Ministers with her, and there are going to be talks of trade,” said Lord Elsa. Colour spread across her high cheekbones, and she leant across to make a grab for the list. Anna held it out of her way with a giggle. “Whatever you are thinking, you are wrong.”

“It’s an awful long way from Eldora,” Anna teased. And from the tone of her voice, it was most definitely teasing, never mind the way that Lord Elsa narrowed her eyes. “Such a very long way for their beautiful young Queen to travel...”

“Anna...”

There was an edge more warning in Lord Elsa’s tone, and Cinderella spared another glance over from where she was polishing the posts of the bed to see that Lord Elsa was on her feet and reaching as far across the desk as she could, while Lord Anna rocked back on her chair to stay firmly out of range. Anna was wearing a wicked smile, but her expression was fond, not malicious, as she fanned herself with the paper in her hand.

“Why, Lord Elsa,” said Anna, lowering her voice and putting on just a hint of an accent which Cinderella did not recognise. “How good it is to see you again. It seems that it has been so long since you visited my kingdom...”

“Anna, give me the...”

“...and we walked around almost arm in arm giggling like girls together...”

“...right now, or I’ll...”

“...and I could have sworn that the night before you left, we ki...”

“Anna!” Lord Elsa snapped, her expression hardening. Anna fell immediately silent and handed the list back, face falling and amusement fading away. “Thank you,” said Lord Elsa flatly.

Across the room, Cinderella’s hand tightened around the cloth which she held, and she turned back to the task she had set herself. She had already cleaned the carved wood of the four-poster bed, the elegant crocuses set into the posts and the curves of the headboard, but they needed polishing again to protect the lovely mahogany wood. She swallowed the lump in her throat at the anger and embarrassment that had snuck into Lord Elsa’s voice in the moment that she had spoken; she had never heard Lord Elsa like that before, not even in her sternest dealings with her Ministers.

Anna rocked her chair back down again, and Cinderella heard the rustle of fabric as she fidgeted. “Sorry,” she said quietly.

Lord Elsa lowered herself into her chair again, smoothing out the list on the desk in front of her. “It is quite forgiven,” she said briskly. “There will be plenty of other guests to concern ourselves with. Unfortunately, Lord Rapunzel and Eugene will not be attending, as he is being invested as a Lord on Midsummer in order that they can be married. Which...”

From the corner of her eye, Cinderella saw Lord Elsa fold her hands in front of her and square her shoulders, the role of Great Lord falling into place over her again over even her place as sister.

“Brings me to what I actually asked you here to talk about.”

“Kristoff, right?” If it were possible for a voice to wince, Anna’s would be doing so.

The cloth in her hands was growing drier. Cinderella carefully picked up more beeswax, the rich warm smell soothing to her. They had never used wax of this quality at her father’s house – to her it would always be her father’s, not her stepmother’s, despite everything that had passed. It always left her hands soft after she had been working with it. She followed the smooth planes of the wood, careful not to miss the grooves carved into even the plainest of panels.

“Indeed. While it is not necessary for him to be invested as a Lord for you to marry, it would certainly make things easier with some of our Ministers, never mind our dealings with some other states.”

“If you even suggest Weselton, I will go and live with Kristoff in the mountains out of spite.”

With a chuckle, Lord Elsa visibly relaxed, shaking her head. “No, not Weselton. But there are Kingdoms more traditional than us, you know. I do not expect him to have to take on a seat or keep a staff,” she added quickly, raising a hand, “and frankly the title is all but honorary since he would have been announced consort anyway. However, I see an opportunity here to make him Lord of _Ellagaell Laekis_.”

Anna frowned. “Where is that?”

“We know it as the... Valley of Living Rock.”

Though she did not look round, Cinderella’s hands stilled momentarily in their work. The Valley of Living Rock was a matter of fairy tales, said to be where the very heart of Arendelle’s magic lay. Children were told stories in which it featured as some sort of hidden land, a place for trolls and nøkken. She glanced over towards the desk only to see Lord Elsa looking straight at her, eyes piercing blue, and immediately turned away as her cheeks grew hot. She had bought a step to ensure that she could reach the very top of the bed, and hurriedly moved it over so that she could climb up and continue her work.

“It is an old name for the area of land where it can be found,” Lord Elsa continued. “And in fact refers to a larger area. It has been in possession of the ruling seat for some three centuries now, and before that was considered common land.”

“And nobody will think it strange if we grant it to Kristoff?”

“People might wonder why he is getting so poor an area of land, but anybody who is likely to think much on the politics of the match will know why he is being made a Lord. They will probably assume that it is simply because of that.”

They both fell silent for a moment. Cinderella was careful to push aside the velvet of the drapes so that she could reach the very top of the bedframe. The scent of the beeswax mixed with that of the flowers that had been used to perfume the drapes, both of them warmed further by the sunlight.

“If you want some time to think on this, I understand,” said Lord Elsa. Her voice had softened, and Cinderella saw her reach over the table again, this time to clasp Anna’s hand. “And yes, I have spoken to Kristoff about this. He’s... undecided.”

Anna wrinkled her nose. “He doesn’t particularly want to be a Lord, you know. He’s quite happy as Ice Master and Deliverer.”

“I know. This is... politics. And I know that he doesn’t like that, either,” said Lord Elsa, with a hint of a smile. “But he’ll do it for you.”

“Please don’t say that to him.”

This time, Elsa laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

 

 

 

 

Cinderella had a new dress which she was expected to wear. Unfortunately, it was not yet meeting which much success.

“You look absurd!” Jaq shrieked with laughter from the bed. “Oh my God, who made that thing?”

“It’s traditional,” said Cinderella. She was aware that she sounded more than a little defensive. “Do you think they would have me wait on Lord Elsa dressed like that?”

She waved to the boy’s garb which her friend was currently sporting, the elbows worn almost translucent and the knees grubby. Jaq grinned shamelessly. “I’d like to see reactions if you did.”

Cinderella huffed and turned back to the small mirror balanced in the window. If she stepped back and forth, she could put together an image of what she looked like in the dress, and she wasn’t quite sure what to think of the result. It was floor-length, deep purple with yellow-gold embroidery and trims, with a plain, tight bodice and no sleeves. She had pulled her hair up into a bun and secured it with a purple ribbon in an attempt to pull together the look, but she was still trying to work out whether her hair was close enough in colour to the embroidery to look good, or whether it was terrible. She picked up the hem of her dress and bent down, trying to hold it close enough to her hair to make them both visible in the mirror at the same time. It provoked more peals of laughter from Jaq.

“Jacobine Mussen,” she said, as sternly as she could with her skirt clutched to her ear. “If you do not stop laughing and probably distracting our poor neighbours, then I shall wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Yes, mother,” said Jaq, barely pausing for breath before laughing again. “Oh, honestly. Your hair makes it work! I think. Somehow. You’ll be fine.”

Conceding, Cinderella sighed and straightened up, smoothing her skirt with her hands. “Besides, nobody will be looking at a handmaiden when the Snow Lord is in attendance.”

“It’ll be like being invisible. Be sure to bring back plenty of juicy gossip that nobody realises you’ve heard.”

Cinderella resisted the urge to bundle Jaq in her own bedclothes. Just about.

 

 

 

 

The strange thing was that she had been so focused on serving that she had barely thought about this being a _Ball_. The room glittered with candles and bright curtains, filled with the murmur of voices and the lull of music and punctuated by announcements of new arrivals. For a long time, all that Cinderella had to do was stand behind the dais upon which Lord Elsa stood and wait in case she was needed; for as long as she was not, she got to watch the arrivals in their beautiful clothes and hear their wonderful languages and accents.

There was Lord Merida of Dunbroch, in slashed green velvet, with one of her brothers – they were still indistinguishable from each other, she assured Elsa breezily – in traditional dress. She clasped Lord Elsa’s hand, teased her brother about being seasick on the boat over, and promised that there would be no more “incidents” with fondue.

Cinderella remembered the last one, the previous autumn. It had been an astonishing sight, and a challenging clean-up.

Prince Naveen was dashing in teal and gold, all charm and purred Maldonian as he flirted with both Lord Elsa and Lord Anna. Rolling her eyes, Princess Tiana elbowed him in the ribs and stepped in to kiss the cheeks of both Lords, thanking them for their hospitality and apologising that one of her friends could not accompany them. When she inquired after their head cook, Anna burst out laughing and Elsa worked to suppress her own giggles. Princess Tiana looked from one to the other in obvious confusion.

“Now she owes me breakfast,” said Anna simply, pointing at Elsa with her thumb.

There were others, of course, as well. A lesser Lord from Corona, representatives of the Great Lord whilst they had their own matters to attend to. The King and Queen of Enchancia, who from the careful words translated for them were visiting Arendelle for the first time. The young girl with them, the Princess, was captivated at the sight of Elsa’s glittering ice suit.

When the announcement came that one of the Princes of the Southern Isles – the fourth, this time – had arrived, Cinderella saw both Lord Elsa and Lord Anna stiffen, posture tightening. Anna brushed her hand over Elsa’s arm, and they stood side-by-side as the Prince and his bodyguards approached. He was rather older than them, tow-haired, with the bearing of a military man rather than a politician, and he regarded them both calmly and evenly as he strode up to the dais.

Only Cinderella could see the way that the back of Lord Elsa’s knee twitched. She wished that there was something that she could do, but that was not her role. She was a handmaiden, and for now her role was – as Jaq had put it – to be invisible.

“My Lords,” said the Prince, voice slightly accented. Instead of a bow, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head, an astonishing posture of submission even in private. Before a ballroom full of guests, it immediately attracted attention, and Cinderella heard whispering and saw people pointing over. “From my father the King and in the name of the Throne of the Southern Isles, I come to ask forgiveness for the actions of Hans Westergaard, once Prince of the Southern Isles. We wish to make clear that his actions are deplored and unconscionable, and start afresh our relationship with the Great Lord or Arendelle.”

Only as his words were finished did he glance up from beneath his brow, lips pressed together but eyes gauging Lord Elsa’s reaction. Anna looked across at her sister, but Lord Elsa stood firm, grinding her heels only very slightly against the dais.

“Arise, Prince Franz,” she said calmly. “The apologies of your King and Throne have been accepted, and Arendelle would not begin our new interactions in such a manner. There is no need for adjuration here.”

A smile spread across the Prince’s face as he rose to his feet again, stepped forwards, and accepted Lord Elsa’s outstretched hand. Talk around the hall picked up, and Cinderella did not catch the words that she saw him speak, but Lord Elsa smiled and nodded and she could only assume that all was well. After the letters whose exchange she had been involved in, Cinderella too felt a rush of gladness at the resolution.

 

 

 

 

“These introductions are _endless_ ,” said Anna, in rather less of an undertone than she probably thought.

Elsa tried to look reproachfully at her sister, but could not summon the sternness, and smiled instead. “They will be done soon,” she said. “Besides, this is what you get for being so excited about the long guest list.”

For a moment, she felt a flicker of concern that her sister might attempt to tease her about Queen Marisol again, but Anna just wrinkled her nose. Elsa had nearly provoked an argument, she knew, but it was hard to feel that she was wholly to blame after the words that had flown. Handling it in a cooler-headed manner might have been preferable, though.

Nothing more had been said about Queen Marisol since that day. Even when the party had arrived and been first greeted, Elsa had not been present, dealing with a disagreement between two of her lesser Lords that was threatening to boil over at a most unhelpful time. She had not seen the Queen of Eldora since their visit the previous year, a visit that had seemed too short for all of the rich memories that it contained.

If she had thought that she would be prepared for the sight of Queen Marisol again, she was wrong.

Marisol was breathtaking, her black hair loose down to her hips and her brown skin rich against the red and gold silk that she wore. Her eyes were shining, lips parted in wonder as she looked around the ballroom, and when her gaze alighted on Elsa joy spread across it as if she were lit from the inside.

Beside her, Anna said something. Elsa was not paying the slightest bit of attention.

“Lord Elsa, Lord Anna,” said Marisol, bowing to each of them in turn. She made it look fluid, hand flowing, and her eyes never seemed to leave Elsa’s.

Quite intending to extend only one hand, Elsa stepped forwards, but before she caught herself she had raised both arms as if for an embrace and, the only thing that could have been more startling, Queen Marisol had beamed with delight and stepped up to return it.

Her slim, warm arms wrapped around Elsa’s waist, and she pulled them tight together. She smelt of some perfume that Elsa could not identify, warm and almost bitter, and gave a delighted murmur as Elsa gave in and hugged her back, feeling the smooth shift of her breath. The silk might as well have been nothing at all over the curves of her body, and Elsa’s ice was so much a part of her that it was almost an extension of her skin, and Elsa felt her cheeks grow hot as she hugged the woman close just an instant longer than she probably should have done.

Well, truth be told she should probably not have embraced her at all, but it was too late for that.

“It is so good to see you both again,” said Marisol, stepping back but keeping her hand on Elsa’s shoulders. Her eyes glittered, and she looked at Elsa as if she could not bear to tear her eyes away.

“And you, Your Majesty,” Elsa replied. Her throat had gone dry, as if she were learning all over again how to give a speech, but all that she could really think of was how Marisol was smiling at her, and how Marisol’s hands felt on her shoulders. She smiled at the young Queen helplessly, thinking of the time that they had spent together last, and felt her heart flutter.

“And where is your little snowman? It would not be the same to not see him.”

“I believe that Olaf is making his own introductions to people,” said Elsa, with a nod to the far side of the room. “Between you and me, I’m not sure how happy Kristoff was when we asked him to keep Olaf out of trouble.”

Marisol laughed, sounding like sunshine.

“Of course,” said Anna, “we informed him it was a choice between minding Olaf or welcoming dignitaries, and suddenly a talking snowman sounded like a wonderful idea to him.”

In Ealdor, it had taken longer than ever to get Kristoff to come out of his shell, not to mention his heavy winter-ready clothes. He had asked Elsa to put ice inside them; she had refused, and only then had he relented to at least remove his tunic and hat. Kristoff probably remembered the whole scene less fondly.

“I have more people to greet,” said Elsa, hearing her own reluctance. She removed Marisol’s hands from her shoulders, squeezing them lightly before letting go. “But we will talk again soon, yes?”

“As soon as possible.”

She would have liked to think that Marisol’s hands lingered in hers before the Queen stepped away, saying something to her guards in her own tongue before stepping down and leaving to cross the room. Just as she reached the crowds, she turned back to flash Elsa a smile, and Elsa blushed all over again.

“Sooo, Lord I-don’t-do-hugs of Arendelle...” Anna’s voice trailed off.

“Say one word and I will cover this dais in ice.”

“Apparently I don’t need to.”

Perhaps she should have been more annoyed, but it was impossible while she still felt as if she was floating just from seeing Marisol again.

She had never told Anna about the kiss. She had no idea that Anna had known about the kiss. It had only been once, and it was supposed to have been in the privacy of the Palace gardens, and every moment of the journey had been worth it, summer powers or no, for that blossoming instant when Marisol’s lips had touched hers. They had not spoken of it in their letters. But Elsa was sure that she had seem the same light in Marisol’s eyes this night that had been there on that day; it was all that she could do to keep her thoughts on the matter of the ball.

 

 

 

 

They were able to speak briefly again before dinner, and Marisol laughed as she recounted their voyage, the temporary port they made in Maldonia while weather had been poor, and her amazement at seeing the Prince and Princess of Maldonia here as well. Elsa simply listened, still enraptured, until the huge sonorous bell that announced dinner rang and, once again, she was forced to tear herself away.

Dinner was served in the Great Hall, at long narrow tables that bustled with activity, and a smaller head table where Elsa could not help but feel exposed as she and Anna sat central and looking over the entire hall. The sight of so many people was for a moment giddying, and she felt her palms grow damp with sweat, but they were talking and eating and _enjoying themselves_ , and Elsa reminded herself that this was but another victory in a string of many.

“If you do not dance with her,” said Anna, as the first course was being brought to the tables, “I shall have Kai announce that you are going to do so, and then you will have no choice.” Before Elsa could come up with a retort, she added: “And you cannot threaten me with the same, because it would be Kristoff that you are actually punishing.”

And with plans to make Kristoff the Lord of _Ellagaell Laekis_ now underway, the poor man was probably under punishment enough. Elsa glanced quickly around them, but nobody else at the table seemed to have noticed, and she was secure enough to give her currently less-than-darling sister a light kick beneath the table.

“That’s not very Lord-like.”

“Neither is matchmaking,” said Elsa smartly. It was the first time that she had given the word to Anna’s behaviour, and just speaking it made a rush of nervousness run over her again. She reached for her glass, catching and withdrawing her hand not just because she realised that her glass was empty but also as ice formed on the stem as her fingers drew close.

Cinderella stepped up from behind her. It was strange to see her in the traditional handmaiden gown, something which Elsa had not asked of her while they had been working more privately but could not really be avoided for this first large public event. The purple suited her; the style, rather less. Without asking, she had a jug of water in her hands, knowing that Elsa preferred not to drink on any occasion that she might have reason to be nervous, and filled the glass silently.

Normally, Elsa would have thanked her aloud; now, all that she could do was give a nod. It was impossible to tell whether she had seen it as she stepped back again, presumably to return the water to its place and join the servants who would be fetching the first course.

“It is good to see her again.” Anna’s voice softened, and Elsa’s annoyance faded with it. “It was nice in Ealdor. And not just because of the weather.”

“Oh, be fair, it is summer. The ground has actually thawed.”

Anna snorted with laughter. “I think the ambassador from Santoff Clausen would disagree with you on that. He actually asked me earlier where all the snow was. He sounded disappointed.”

There had been some visitors to the castle who had expected the Snow Lord to live in a rather different abode. As if the icy roof and the glittering statues of the fountains, not to mention her clothes, were somehow not enough of a demonstration of her power. Neither Elsa nor Anna told such people about the Ice Palace. If Anna was commenting on the man’s disappointment, though, it must have been for rather different reasons.

“Pack too many fur coats?”

“Probably. He’s already shed his hat.”

That was enough to make Elsa chuckle. She sipped at her water, pleased to note that this time no ice marked the glass, then settled her hands back into her lap as she saw movement from the corner of her eye.

In the past, the handmaiden had been responsible for delivering food as yet another precaution against poisoning. Even in her grandfather’s day, his handmaiden had stopped two attempts on his life. After years of the castle adapting to a different system, however, such was not necessary, and it was only display that Cinderella be the first to enter the hall, be the one to serve her Lord before the rest of the people present.

The bowl was placed in front of Elsa, and then Cinderella stepped back so that the first footman could serve Anna immediately afterwards. After that, all others could be served, and with the size of the room Elsa made sure to eat slowly so that everybody would actually have an opportunity to eat.

As the course was served, chatter started up once again, and Elsa found herself drawn into conversation with Prince Franz. He was intelligent and well-spoken, but after how Hans had presented himself Elsa still found herself cautious despite the apology that he had already given. They did not speak of Hans himself, nor the political situation that correspondence had implied had been created, but discussed the marriage of one of the other princes, the continued good health of the King, and tentatively touched on the possibility of trade between their two kingdoms.

At the change of courses, bowls of water and towels were bought out, and placed each between two people. A little less formal than in some kingdoms, perhaps, but it did encourage talking to one’s neighbours. Anna explained the custom to Prince Naveen and Princess Tiana with great enthusiasm, and Elsa smiled as she turned to her own bowl – her right, of course, as Lord.

She did not expect, as she was about to dip her hands into the water, for Cinderella to still be there and take hold of her wrist. Elsa started, looked up without thinking into Cinderella’s face, but was unable to read anything behind the calm, collected mask of the handmaiden there.

This was old tradition, and Elsa had not even known that Cinderella was aware of it. Elsa sat dumbfounded as Cinderella dipped a cloth into the warm water and set to washing Elsa’s hands. Her touch was gentle but deliberate, tracing over the back of Elsa’s left hand, lingering on the palm, making sure to rub over each nail individually. The cloth that she used was as soft as silk, and as Elsa recognised the sweet scent of bergamot she realised that the water itself was scented.

Only after a moment did Elsa realise that her hands had not grown cold, that ice had not appeared. With Anna it was different; with Kristoff she was improving, in handshakes and pats on the shoulder; but usually unexpected touches would send ice prickling down her spine and forming in the creases of her palms, defences springing to the fore.

It felt so tender that Elsa was astonished that it had ever been considered so public. Cinderella picked up the soft cotton towel from beside the water and patted Elsa’s hand dry, her eyes never leaving her task even as Elsa looked at her in near-amazement. She released it almost reverently, and picked up Elsa’s second hand with so much care that it made Elsa’s heart beat faster.

Cinderella could not know, of course. She had been hired only a couple of years before the passing of their parents, at a time in which Elsa was becoming set in her ways for all her young years. She could not know that there had been years when Elsa had missed touch so much that it had been a physical pain, that she had lain in her bed with the covers pulled tight and unable to sleep because she had missed the warm touch of skin so badly. Even now, there were only a select few that she would touch for even more than a handshake, and even with Marisol – the person who had most quickly found their way close to Elsa – it had taken weeks.

Now hands slid over hers, their warmth tangible even through water and cloth, and Elsa was glad that she was sitting down because her knees felt so weak.

She managed to tear her eyes away from Cinderella’s face, but could not look away from the hands washing hers, patting the second one dry, and folding the towel over her arm before stepping away. With a deep breath, Elsa turned back to the table and looked around, seeing other servants taking their cue from the Lord’s handmaiden and stepping in to discreetly remove the other bowls and towels as well.

Elsa breathed again. She felt irrationally exposed, her hands warm and Cinderella’s fingers still a ghost on them.

“That smells nice,” said Anna, leaning across and sniffing the air vaguely in Elsa’s direction.

Elsa leant away, but laughed. “I will ask them to add bergamot to the other bowls next time as well. Fair?”

“Fair.”

 

 

 

 

Dinner passed more slowly than Elsa would like, but it was full of words and laughter, and Anna was always willing to pick up the weight of conversation so that Elsa could pause and look around them. It could be passed off as the proud look of a Lord over her subjects, and in truth there was an element of that, but if she were honest with herself there was an element of nervousness in that as well. And, for that matter, twinges of weariness of dealing with so many people.

It was made easier by how smoothly things went. There was no dropping of dishes, no untoward incidents, and as far as she could see no disagreements breaking out among her guests. Only as the later courses approached did Elsa realised she had never found her glass completely empty, that her conversation had never been interrupted by Cinderella dipping into view. Engrossed by Princess Tiana’s discussion of the parfait and fruit which they had been served, Elsa did not notice the fork slipping from her fingers until it was too late, and she made a grab for it as it fell but missed altogether.

She scanned the floor, looking more out of frustration than anything else, but had not found it when from the corner of her eye she saw Cinderella slip another fork into place on the table. With a sigh, Elsa turned to her left to thank Cinderella, but she was no longer there. A flicker of movement on Elsa’s right again made her look down to see Cinderella stooping to pick up the stray fork before straightening up and backing away in the same smooth movement.

Later, she would have to thank Cinderella for this. For someone who had never served at a formal meal before tonight, her deportment had been truly exceptional.

After dinner, it would be usual in Arendelle any Lords – even lesser ones – to retire from the room for a while to talk more privately, but matters were more complicated with different Kingdoms that did not keep similar practices. Instead, everyone returned directly to the ballroom, though dancing was held off for a while so that people had an opportunity to talk once again.

Elsa made sure to talk to at least half a dozen people before seeking out Marisol, knowing that it would be both unlordly and somewhat childish to head straight to the Queen as she wished to. It was truly pleasant to meet many of her guests again, and small talk had been something which she had been practicing since she had been barely able to form sentences at all, but all the time she was yearning to go to Queen Marisol.

Finally, sure that she had spent enough time with others for it to not seem impolite, she scanned about the room for Marisol’s distinctive bright clothes, her lovely form. It was Marisol’s laughter that she heard first, though, sparkling in the air, and Elsa smiled in echo as she slipped through the crowd, with another few nods and salutations, until finally coming to stand before Marisol. The Queen was speaking to Prince Franz animatedly, but even that was only enough to make Elsa’s smile falter for a moment before she stepped forwards.

Prince Franz bowed as Elsa approached. “Lord Elsa.” Straightening, he glanced between the two women, and cleared his throat. “Please excuse me.”

He did not leave her any time to respond before backing away, turning, and melting into the crowd. Elsa and Marisol both watched him go, then their eyes met and both of them giggled, Elsa hiding it behind a hand.

“He was so nervous,” intimated Marisol. “He came here because none of his brothers would dare.”

“Perhaps I should have suspected as much,” said Elsa, though in truth she had been far more terrified of the Southern Isles than she could have thought they would be of her. When she had first acted, Anna’s support had made her feel strong, but barely had the ship left the harbour before her fear had set in. “You did not scare him, I trust,” she added, in a more teasing tone.

Marisol chuckled. “I hope not. I was telling him about how we met, and how you risked so much to save a queen trapped by her summer powers.” As Elsa’s cheeks grew hot, Marisol smiled and touched her elbow gently. “Don’t worry. You sounded like quite the hero.”

“That is what I feared!” Elsa retorted, though she was still smiling. Marisol looked extraordinarily beautiful in the evening sunlight that slanted in through the large windows, gold glints in her hair and her lips full and red. “Goodness, he will think that I am some, some...”

“Fairy tale Lord?” teased Marisol. If Elsa had not been blushing before, she certain would have done at such words. With a breath of nervous laughter, she tucked her hair behind her ear with one hand, and fought the urge to shift her weight like some besotted teen. She knew why it was that Marisol had such an effect on her, of course; it would be impossible to not recognise it. She would not use the word yet, even to herself, for fear of the enormity of it, but she had traced its shadow clearly enough.

“Something I am not,” she finished.

Still smiling, Marisol looked her over fondly. “It is so good to see you again.”

“And you.”

“I hope that you will be able to visit Eldora again soon. If you would rather it were in winter, when our weather is not quite so hot...”

How much difference it would make, Elsa did not know, but she appreciated the sentiment anyway. She was about to respond when Marisol’s hand brushed her forearm and all thoughts of speaking were chased away, mouth going dry and breath hitching.

“Perhaps,” said Marisol, less joking, “you will even be able to be present for my wedding.”

The world crunched to a halt. Elsa jerked her arm from Marisol’s touch, and stepped away. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice tight, “pardon?”

Marisol looked startled at Elsa’s reaction, and put one hand to her chest. “Lord Elsa? I simply hoped to invite you to my wedding. It is to be early next spring.”

For a moment, words would not come. “Congratulations,” said Elsa, amazed that her voice did not sound as hollow as it felt. She wet her lips. “I was simply taken by surprise. You mentioned no betrothed at our last meeting.”

“It was not arranged at that time,” Marisol said. “He is the third son of one of the neighbouring Kings. A good man, intelligent, respectful.”

“Good. I hope that he is a good match for you.” Anything else was beyond her; she could already feel her breathing starting to quicken, her hands to close into loose fists to hide her palms away. “If you will excuse me, Your Majesty.”

She did not need to use the title, not in her own Kingdom, but it stumbled from her lips before she could stop it. Marisol’s face fell, but Elsa could not look upon it any longer as she turned and strode away with her head held high.

 

 

 

 

Being a Great Lord, never mind the Snow Lord, meant at least that nobody stopped you. Elsa had only to acknowledge people in passing as she walked through the room, before finally stepping into the cooler, quieter corridor. Her eyes prickled and her vision blurred, but she knew the castle by heart after so many years, and without missing a step walked away.

Only as she opened the door to the library did she realise that was where her steps had been leading her. Here, the lights had not been lit, nor the curtains opened, and the room was cool and dim.

Elsa put her hands over her eyes as tears began to roll down her cheeks. Foolish, foolish, foolish. After a few weeks, and one kiss, to have thought that there was as much as she had hoped? She might as well have dreamed of marrying the moon.

But Marisol had been supposed to be _like her_ , in some way even if it was not in having magic, and now the tearing up of the dreams that Elsa had never admitted to herself felt as if it was cutting straight through her.

She cried quietly, always had, chest heaving and tears falling but no sobs breaking from her. How could she have been such a fool, to have read too much into formal letters and believed too much of one infatuated kiss? Her eyes grew hot and her lips wet and she kept her hands clamped to her face because she could feel the chill on them and knew that if she put them on the back of a chair or a bookcase or a desk ice would spread from them. Her coat seemed to constrict around her, but that might just have been her imagination or the way that her chest tightened up. She rocked back and forth in place, mourning what could never have been and furious with herself for thinking of it at all.

When the door opened behind her, Elsa froze, throat tightening, then slowly raised her head out of her hands. She was turned towards the curtains, face not visible, but she doubted that whoever it was would be unable to have read her body language.

“My Lord?”

To hear Cinderella’s voice was more of a relief than Elsa might have hoped. Anyone less familiar would have been too much of an intrusion, but Anna knew too much, would try to comfort Elsa with a hug when the last thing that Elsa needed was to be touched. Kristoff would probably have excused himself and left again, which might have made him a good choice as well, but Elsa trusted Cinderella both to be discreet and to be composed.

“Cinderella,” she said, voice as steady as she could make it. She did not wipe the tears from her cheeks, knowing that the movement would be distinctive even in the low light.

“Is there... anything that I can do, my Lord?” said Cinderella, and Elsa almost laughed at the absurdity of such a question. But then Cinderella continued gently. “If you would like me to fetch a glass of water, perhaps... it is quite warm in the ballroom today.”

Elsa felt guilty for the laughter that had almost broken forth. Cinderella’s offer let her keep a dignity that she had thought she would lose the moment that the door was opened. “Yes, water would be good,” she said. This time, her voice trembled a little. “Thank you,” she added in a breath.

“My Lord,” Cinderella murmured, and closed the door behind her as she withdrew.

As the room dimmed again, Elsa took a shuddering breath and wiped her cheeks. It left her fingers wet, and as her wits returned she flicked an icy handkerchief into being in her hand and used that to wipe her cheeks instead. The cool was soothing on her eyes as well, though she had no way of knowing how red her eyes might be without some sort of mirror. If thick enough, her ice could certainly form a reflective surface, but it was not good enough for colour in the way that a good silvered glass mirror would be.

Cheeks dry again, she blew her nose. She had never learnt to do it delicately, not in the way that her mother had mastered; when she and Anna were children, she had if anything done it particularly loudly to make her baby sister laugh. A twist of her fingers, and the handkerchief winked out of existence again in a flicker of blue light, leaving her with only the occasional shudder in her breath and the pounding of her heart in her ears.

She counted her breaths until the door opened again, and she was confident enough of her calm to turn to see Cinderella enter the room with a silver tray balanced perfectly on one hand. Placing the tray on the dresser, Cinderella took from it a box of the phosphorous matches, and lit the gas lamp closest to the door without saying a word.

On the tray was a single glass, upturned, and a jug of water. The water even had ice cubes and mint leaves in it, which was more than Elsa could have thought to ask for. It touched her, and soothed away just a little of the pain in her chest.

 

 

 

 

She wished that there was something more that she could do. The attention of everyone else at the Ball may have been elsewhere – guests talking, laughing, thinking of the dances to come; servants watching for what duties they might have to perform – but Cinderella was there for Elsa alone. It was not as if she could have missed the way in which her Lord abruptly left the room, and after only a moment’s hesitation Cinderella had slipped out as well. As she should have anticipated, the guards did not look twice at her.

She had to try a few doors, at first rapping on them before opening and then, with fear crawling up her spine, simply pushing them open instead. It was an absolute breach of her role as a servant, and she knew that she could be disciplined for it, but this part of the castle was cold and dark, not even servants working here this evening.

When she opened the door of the library to see Lord Elsa’s shaking back, her heart caught in her throat. She recognised heartbreak, and the death of dreams; she had felt her heart shatter the day that the door of her father’s house had closed behind her. She had only been sixteen when her stepmother had cast her out, and though it had been a better life for her at the castle it had still meant a loss of much of herself.

She had cried on Jaq’s shoulder that night, until her voice was hoarse and her sadness and anger spent, but she knew Lord Elsa well enough after these months to know that her Lord would not want the same. Instead, she offered water and something a breath away from an alibi, and blinked away the tears in her own eyes as she went to fetch it.

By the time that she returned, Lord Elsa was composed again, and only on looking closely could Cinderella see the pink in Elsa’s eyes, the flush to her lips. She poured her own water even as Cinderella was still adjusting the gas on the lamp, and wrapped a hand tightly around the glass as she turned away to stride across the room again.

“Would you like me to open the curtains, my Lord?” she said, folding her hands in front of her.

Lord Elsa paused – in anyone else, Cinderella might have perhaps called it a hesitation. “No thank you, Cinderella,” she said.

Not sure what words she could offer, Cinderella fell silent again, waiting beside the door as Lord Elsa walked slowly around the room, apparently examining the books on the shelves, the paintings on the walls. Her eyes lingered for a long time on the portrait of her father above the desk. Doubtless one day it would be replaced with a painting of the Snow Lord herself, but Lord Elsa had not chosen to do that yet.

The ice cubes in Elsa’s glass clicked together. “I will return to the Ball shortly,” said Lord Elsa, finally turning her gaze away from her father.

“Is there anything else that I can do?” It made Lord Elsa hesitate, and for a moment Cinderella feared that she had been too forward, her concern sounding too personal and not enough that of a handmaiden for her Lord. She had none of the training that a handmaiden was supposed to have, but so far it had not mattered; she had fulfilled every request that Lord Elsa had made, and it had seemed that they had all been satisfactory.

Then again, perhaps a trained handmaiden would not be quite so sure what to do in such a moment as this, either.

“No,” Lord Elsa replied finally, voice gentler than Cinderella expected. “You have done quite enough.”

As Cinderella turned to leave, she barely heard the final words.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This is the chapter of cameos, let's be honest! This is also the last that we'll be seeing from any of these cameo characters - it's all deeper on into the id from here, folks.
> 
> 2\. Queen Marisol comes from the book _A Warm Welcome_ by Erica David, an official Disney book which follows Anna and Elsa (plus Kristoff, Sven and Olaf!) after the events of the film. In _A Warm Welcome_ , Olaf has heard of a land of eternal summer, called Eldora, and Anna and Elsa decide to go there to help the young queen who, they presume, is struggling to control her own summer magic. [SPOILERS] When they get there, however, it turns out that the 'eternal summer' is nothing more than the fact that Eldora is much more southerly and is naturally hot all year round. 
> 
> Elsa and Marisol are also [super cute](http://33.media.tumblr.com/f18b9e1703b1dd7a43022f0fef4ce6da/tumblr_inline_nl478s9iI01tnhatv.jpg). I do ship them! But I'm writing straight from the id, and Elsa/Cinderella is my endgame, so my apologies to any Mariselsa shippers who were disappointed. Basically, while Marisol might have had a crush on Elsa, she didn't take it too seriously in this fic - and didn't realise that Elsa did either.
> 
> 3\. _Ellagaell Laekis_ is a completely made-up name. It is very, very loosely based on the Sami words for 'Valley of the Living Rock', the name of the area where the trolls live.
> 
> 4\. Jacobine is a Scandinavian female name which is equivalent to Jack or Jaq. Mussen is a made up name that is meant to read roughly as Mouse-son.


	3. Chapter 3

The letter came between thick reports on the annual harvests of oats, spring barley and potatoes. Between them, Cinderella and Lord Elsa had found four spelling or grammatical errors in the first three reports, and Cinderella picked up the next letter, reaching for the letter opener, before the slimmer form and lower weight caught her attention. She turned back to it with a frown and Lord Elsa, catching the interruption in the flow of their words, looked up from her own writing curiously.

“Cinderella?”

“Pardon, my Lord. I do not recognise this crest,” said Cinderella. She tilted the thick, good-quality paper towards Lord Elsa, showing the navy wax with its intricate quest.

What colour there was in the Lord’s cheeks drained away. For three slow breaths, Lord Elsa stilled, then she carefully set aside her pen and folded her hands on her lap. “It is the crest of Weselton,” she said.

 _Oh_. Those few words were enough, and Cinderella suddenly felt as if the letter was hot in her hand, heavier than mere paper had any right to be. She held it out. “If you wish to...”

“No,” said Lord Elsa quickly. “Please, read it.”

Still, Cinderella could not help a moment’s hesitation. She had been there to see what the Duke of Weselton had done, the actions horrifying even her Lord had been a distant figure, not the person she now knew. But when Lord Elsa did not withdraw her order, Cinderella carefully slit open the letter and unfolded it.

“ _To the Lord Elsa of Arendelle’s Most Excellent Highness,_

_“As Duke Karl II Frälse of Weselton, I submit to Your Highness my humble petition that my words may grace your eyes and this paper your hands.”_

“Repeat the name, please.”

“Duke Karl II Frälse, my Lord,” said Cinderella. As unnecessary as the title might have been at that particular moment, she hoped that it might make up for how terribly Duke Karl II had butchered the form of address supposed to be used for a Great Lord.

Lord Elsa pressed the tips to her fingers to her lips, but nodded to the letter again. Cinderella cleared her throat and continued.

 _“It is my unfortunate task to inform you of the death of my father, Duke Ruben I Frälse, on this the seventeenth day of August._ The ‘seventeenth’ is in the same hand, but a little squashed,” added Cinderella. “I think it may have been added after the rest.”

“A good observation. Continue.”

_“Ever since I have heard of the incident which so sundered our countries, that had for many years been close allies, I was filled with regret. Alas, I was unable to sway the thoughts of my father on the matter. Thus I necessarily count among the first tasks which I must undertake as Duke the extension of a formal apology from the Duchy of Weselton to the Lorddom of Arendelle, and the humble request that relations between our two countries might be renewed.”_

Glancing up, Cinderella could see the look of shock on Lord Elsa’s face. “There is more,” she said, but let her eyes skim over it. “He extends an invitation that a representative of Arendelle be present at his father’s funeral, which is to be twenty-one days from the date of his death.”

The seventh of September, she calculated, but did not say aloud as she expected Lord Elsa to do so. When her Lord did not immediately supply the date, Cinderella looked up again, ready to set down the letter if there was anything that she could do.

Lord Elsa still looked stunned. There was no other word for it; she sat back in her chair, fingers to her lips and eyes fixed on the distance. She remained there a moment longer, blinking quickly, then abruptly dropped her hand away and sat up more squarely.

“Cinderella, I need you to fetch my sister. I believe that she has been riding with Kristoff.”

Or, more accurately, trying to teach Kristoff to ride a horse, rather than a reindeer. Apparently he was having some sort of trouble communicating with them. In any case, though, it meant that they never left the courtyard for long, and were just as likely to be found doing laps of it as actually venturing beyond. “Of course, my Lord,” said Cinderella, putting down the letter and getting to her feet.

She could not shake the haunted look in Lord Elsa’s eyes as she left the room.

 

 

 

 

Fortune favoured her, and Lord Anna and Kristoff were just returning from their ride as Cinderella reached the courtyard. Not knowing if Kristoff was included in Lord Elsa’s request, Cinderella greeted him politely but left him behind as she followed Lord Anna, three paces behind, back to the study.

The footman who had been outside the study was no longer there; dismissed, Cinderella supposed, and the enormity of the letter sank in just a little deeper. She opened the door for Lord Anna, but did not announce her as Lord Elsa looked up from her desk.

“Is everything all right?” said Anna, glancing around the room. “I mean, not to sound, like, you know, but the atmosphere in here is a little tense.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” replied Lord Elsa. “Cinderella, if you fetch Anna a seat, please.”

Lord Anna went as if to grab one of the chairs from the edge of the room herself, then caught her action and rocked back on her heels instead. She looked slightly uncomfortable as Cinderella placed a chair beside her, lips pressed together, but nodded all the same.

“Thanks.”

Cinderella bowed her head, then hesitated, not sure whether she was expected to leave the room as well. She looked to Lord Elsa, who gave a minute nod back to the chair at her side.

“Anna, this morning I received a letter from Karl Frälse,” began Lord Elsa. She looked over Anna’s frown. “The Duke of Weselton’s son.”

“If that weaselly bastard is trying to –” Anna snarled, but cut off as Lord Elsa raised a hand.

“Ruben Frälse, the Duke of Weselton that we knew, is dead.”

The words hung heavily in the air between them. Lord Anna looked astonished; not the heart-piercing shock that had drawn Lord Elsa’s gaze into herself, but amazed, eyes wide and posture drawn up and back. “Dead?” echoed Anna.

Lord Elsa nodded. “His son, the new Duke of Weselton, has immediately written in the hopes of establishing peaceful relations between our countries. Looking at the letter,” she waved to it, “I suspect that it was in fact written before the former Duke’s death, and sent immediately afterwards. The ink is slightly different, the handwriting the same but...off.”

“Do you think... he means it?” said Anna. She reached up and tugged the end of one of the plaits hanging over her shoulder. “Or is this some sort of trick?”

“Unfortunately, we have to consider such a risk,” Lord Elsa said, with a sigh. She picked up the letter and passed it across the desk to her sister. Some of the distant look had gone from her eyes, but her voice had grown weary, and Cinderella wished that she could think of anything that she could do to help. For the moment, though, her hands were tied; these were matters of state.

Lord Anna read over the letter quickly, still looking dubious. “So, I guess someone’s going to go and suss him out, right?”

“I think that might be our best hope, yes. We do not have an official ambassador to Weselton, but it should not be hard to find an envoy. Weselton’s anger was for me, not for my whole Kingdom. I was considering Dr. Haug of the St–”

“I’ll go.”

Even Cinderella could not help but look up in shock. Lord Anna held the letter idly between two of her fingers and gave her sister a confident, almost challenging, look. But Lord Elsa shook her head, a disbelieving huff of laughter leaving her lips, and placed both hands firmly on the desk between them.

“Absolutely not. The last thing I am doing is sending my sister to the land of the man who tried to kill me.”

“The _son_ of the man who... all right, that came out wrong,” said Anna, waving her hand and almost flourishing the letter. “My point is, he’s not the old Duke. And you need someone who you can trust.”

For a moment, Lord Elsa’s brow creased slightly, and Cinderella saw the pain in it. Her Lord’s left hand slowly curled into a fist on the table, and she pursed her lips to breathe out before giving an artificially calm reply.

“You know I trust you more than anyone else in this world, Anna. And I always will,” added Lord Elsa, the words tumbling slightly over each other. “But I will not risk you on this.”

“I will take an armed guard,” said Anna. “And this Dr. Haug, if you wish. But after what happened, we have to treat this seriously, and,” she continued quickly, most likely seeing as well as Cinderella could the protests that Lord Elsa was ready to make, “I honestly think that it needs to be one of us who sees this Karl Frälse and figures out whether he’s trying to trick us or not.”

Lord Elsa paused, and swallowed. Cinderella saw the moment that her cravat hardened, the ice stiffening rather than flowing like the fabric it replaced. When Lord Elsa shifted her legs, they tensed, and she ended in the very same position.

“Please, Anna,” she said quietly, the voice of the woman and not the Lord. “Do not ask this of me.”

Anna put down the letter and shuffled her chair forwards so that she could reach across the table. Her hand lay there for a moment, palm-up, before Elsa acquiesced and laid her hand in it. “I’m doing this because I want to be certain of what we can expect from him. If he really does want to make amends as much as it seems,” she nodded to the letter, “then he could be a great friend to us. _Us_ as well as Arendelle. But if he’s lying, then you’d better bet that I’m going to find out about it and give him what he deserves.”

“I’d never bet against you,” said Lord Elsa, with a faint smile.

“Not since we were children. Your three years isn’t an advantage any more,” Anna teased.

That finally made Lord Elsa chuckle again, and Cinderella smiled gently as well to see her Lord so calmed. With a squeeze of Anna’s hand, Elsa nodded, the first heavy and then more true. “All right,” Lord Elsa said. “I will arrange for this. We are still in good sailing season, and the passage south-east is good in any case. Boats will be better, and... I know you love sailing. Will you be expecting Kristoff to come?”

“I’ll talk to him about it,” said Anna. “So is this a state secret or something?” Her eyes widened. “Are we practising subterfuge?”

“No, no.” Lord Elsa ran a hand across her eyes. “I just wanted to make sure that you knew before anyone else. It will probably be in the papers in a day or two. They must have sent a fast messenger to make sure that it got here so quickly.”

“Look, we’ve got a few days to decide exactly what we’re going to do, right? It’ll be fine. And with you and me working together again, the world had better watch out. Or at least Weselton should.”

 

 

 

 

The night that Anna left for Weselton, Lord Elsa was still awake at midnight. Cinderella knew because that was when she left, carefully bidding Lord Elsa goodnight; her Lord was still sitting at her desk, a candle beside her as well as the usual lights in the room, looking over a thick document from the Bank of Arendelle. Cinderella gently asked if Lord Elsa would like her bed prepared for the night, but was waved away, and retreated with pain and annoyance merging together.

She made sure to be quiet when she brought breakfast the following morning at the usual time, expecting to find the room still dark behind the thick curtains. Instead, lamps were still lit as she entered, and Lord Elsa was already at her desk with papers – different ones – before her.

“My Lord,” said Cinderella. She could not help the disapproval that tinged her tone as she paused in the doorway. She had seen well enough how hard Lord Elsa worked, but at least she had kept enough time to eat, to sleep, and to meet with people other than her ministers. Usually her sister and Kristoff, but at least a social circle of two was better than one that did not exist at all.

She slid the tray into place beside Lord Elsa and looked her over. Her clothes looked fresh, but Cinderella had never seen the ice look like anything else; her hair was mussed and there were shadows beginning beneath her eyes. Ink marked the middle finger of her left hand.

Lord Elsa’s eyes flickered to the tray, but she did not greet Cinderella as she usually would, nor make any move to actually eat.

“I spoke to the cook,” said Cinderella. “We thought that perhaps you would appreciate hot chocolate this morning, instead.”

“Thank you,” Lord Elsa said, voice still distant.

Cinderella would not have accepted such behaviour from anyone else whom she considered a friend. Lord Elsa was her lord, of course, but that still made Cinderella different from other servants. And, she suspected, different from other handmaidens with more normal duties and more usual Lords to serve.

With a boldness she restrained most of the time – Lord Elsa did not expect her to be meek, and did not mind firm speech, but strictness was something not asked of most servants – she reached over and took the pen out of Lord Elsa’s hand. That finally got Lord Elsa’s attention, and she looked up in surprise.

“You need to eat, My Lord,” she said. “To rest. And I am no good handmaiden if I allow you to go without doing so.”

For a moment, Elsa simply looked at her in astonishment. They were but the same age, Cinderella thought dimly, but already Elsa was a Great Lord with an entire country resting on her shoulders, and precious few supports around her. And Cinderella’s greatest concern, she thought wryly, was a woman unconcerned with her own breakfast. It did not feel as if it made much difference whether that woman was a Lord or not, at least right now.

Lord Elsa ran a hand over her eyes, but her sigh was not exactly angry.

“You should change, and I can open the curtains and let in some _natural_ light.” Cinderella knew full well that reading by gaslight could be more tiring than sunlight, and thought it was unavoidable in the winter it was not so much at this time of year. “We have a copy of the first paper of the morning – the death of the Duke... the former Duke of Weselton is not yet in it.”

Barely twenty-four hours from Lord Anna’s ship setting sail, and Lord Elsa was worrying more than ever. To tell the truth, Cinderella was not sure what she was going to make of the next two weeks or so.

Lord Elsa paused, closing her eyes for the second, and exhaled deeply. When she opened them again, there was a gleam of life there again, some of the hollowness of the last day gone. “Thank you, Cinderella,” she said, in that same tone she had first used the night of the Midsummer Ball, and which Cinderella was not sure had been matched since. “I apologise. I–”

“It’s nothing,” said Cinderella immediately. She smiled, truly relieved to see more of Lord Elsa in place again.

As she crossed the room to open the curtains, she held Lord Elsa rise from her chair. The sky was almost clear, with just thin wisps of clouds, hopefully good sailing weather. Although the room had not seemed all that dark, the room was south-facing, and sunlight streamed in as Cinderella fastened the curtains back.

She turned to see Lord Elsa reappearing from behind her dressing screen, her shirt closer to white than usual and with detail at the collar, her waistcoat patterned through with the Arendelle crest. Her hairbrush sat on the edge of the table, and her hair fell loose from its braid in an instant as the ice faded from it. Most days, Lord Elsa wore her hair in that simple braid, or occasionally a four-strand variant, but she was quite capable of doing fairly complex styles herself with the use of the mirror above her dressing table and a second one, smaller and on a stand, which she could angle to see the back of her head.

“I need to finish my response to the Bank of Arendelle. I have a meeting with them next week, and I would hate to leave them without time to finish reading my letter to them.”

The drier note was also something that Cinderella was relieved to hear return. She had been too young for her father to teach her about economics before he died, and after that her education had suffered markedly. Reading her stepsisters’ ignored schoolbooks, or cleaning outside the door while her stepmother taught them, had been the best that she could do. In the last few months she had learnt more about economics than she could have ever expected – including enough to know that Arendelle had suffered during the latter half of the former King’s reign.

Cinderella had been easily able to put two and two together when it came to the King and Queen’s withdrawl from public life and Elsa’s powers. And she doubted that she was the only one who had her suspicions about that withdrawl and the stagnation of the Arendellen economy at a time when much of Europe was booming. Of course, Arendelle was not an empire, but as Elsa had said to various states, it had good lumber that might provide ships for those empires.

“I recognised the seal of the minor Lord Abrahamsen on one of the letters, but it is not his hand,” said Cinderella. “He...” she sought to remember what Elsa had said about the man during one or another of their conversations. “He has no sons of an age to communicate with you, does he?”

“One, but he is studying in Corona,” said Elsa. “Perhaps it is his wife. Her influence on him could be helpful; he is one of the more strident voices against me when it comes to the Bank. She is from the Southern Isles, and they... do things differently their when it comes to their women. The idea of a female Lord shocks them, let alone a female Great Lord. But she is very persuasive with her husband – he does not expect her to be, after all.” She turned her chair a little, so that it faced Cinderella’s, and set aside her work to begin a new page before sitting down. “Come. My country remains, whatever else there is.”

 

 

 

 

Lord Elsa’s mood fluctuated over the following days. At her best, she behaved quite normally, confident and in-control, if a little more inclined than usual to talk to Cinderella like a friend, and not a servant, over breakfast. The second morning, she asked Cinderella’s opinion on her hair; the third, during a lull in conversation, she asked whether Cinderella knew how to ride. Cinderella, surprised, replied that she had ridden while she was young but had not been on a horse in over ten years.

At times, though, Lord Elsa would be distant and not dictate letters in so fluid a manner as usual. She would twist her hands together, or stare out of the window to the fjord as if waiting to see the sails of Anna’s boat returning, and Cinderella wished that she could do more than provide stability in her own service. She did what she could, though, carefully putting aside most of Lord Elsa’s paperwork in the evenings to reduce the likelihood of it being returned to, keeping jugs of water available throughout the day, and sitting a little closer at hand than usual in Lord Elsa’s meetings with her ministers.

Four days after Lord Anna and Kristoff set sail for Weselton, Lord Elsa spoke at breakfast about riding after lunch, and while she was in a private meeting Cinderella hurried to find Jaq and get her to pass a message on to the stables. She was not sure whether Lord Elsa had yet realised that it was Cinderella behind the fact that her horse was always ready before she even reached the grounds.

Cinderella was not sure what to expect when Lord Elsa did realise, but she hoped for amusement. She had seen the Lord laugh with her sister, and they had shared their own moments of more muted humour. The Lord had a more biting wit than most people realised, and certainly more of a sense of fun than Cinderella could ever have anticipated.

As usual, Lord Elsa stopped short at the sight of her horse saddled and ready for her when she reached the stables, then smiled faintly and shook her head. She paused, then turned to Cinderella. “You said that you ride. Are you free to ride with me today?”

The question caught Cinderella completed by surprise. She had been planning to walk into the city to follow up on an order which Lord Elsa had placed with Lord Anna’s tailor, and as a result was wearing sensible boots and a light cloak against the strong cold winds that could come in off the sea even in the height of summer.

“Yes, my Lord,” she answered, somewhat impulsively.

Lord Elsa smiled warmly, and turned and nodded to the closest of the grooms. With a hasty nod, he hurried away again.

“My apologies,” said Lord Elsa, as he disappeared from view. She nodded to the dress that Cinderella wore. “I should have checked whether you rode sidesaddle.”

“I was taught both, my Lord,” she replied, feeling a flush of pride for her father at the same time. She had only cantered a little, but had been more than comfortable walking or trotting, and had always got along well with horses. On the occasional Sunday afternoons that she had visited the stables with Jaq had been much the same. The horses liked her.

“I am glad. I do enjoy horseriding.” Lord Elsa looked up to the roof of the castle above them, shining with ice in the summer sun. She was wearing clothes of her ice as well, not bothering with a riding habit this day, her hair in a simple updo held in place with ice as well.

Even in time past, Cinderella had occasionally seen, from a window, one or the other of the young Lords riding in the courtyard, coming or going. Lord Elsa had often been with her father, though not always, and a horsemaster and two guards would always accompany her. Lord Anna had been with the horsemaster and guards, but when Cinderella had been on the higher floors she had been able to see the younger sister tearing away and outriding her companions.

She would admit to hoping that Lord Elsa still kept to her rather more sedate style of riding.

Lord Elsa’s horse was a handsome palomino with a neatly trimmed mane and tail, who turned his head sideways to regard Cinderella. With a glance to the Lord for a nod of approval, Cinderella stepped over and raised her hand for the horse to sniff. He huffed, sniffed her hand thoroughly, then nickered and nuzzled into her palm.

“Looks like he likes you,” said Lord Elsa, sounding amused.

Cinderella smiled as she stroked the horse’s nose. “Animals tend to,” she admitted. Whether it was the chickens refusing to roost for the night or the time that the dog that had whelped under a low table in the kitchen and growled at anyone other than Cinderella who tried to move her or her puppies, she had a reputation among the other servants for being able to deal with animal-related problems.

The horse nickered again, flicking his tail as Cinderella presumably found a good spot on his nose for scratching. His light brown eyes closed slowly.

Lord Elsa stepped up as well, resting a hand on the horse’s shoulder. “He was a yearling when we got him. Sixteen years old this year. Doesn’t act it, though.”

“He seems very sweet.”

“Good with the cold, as well,” said Lord Elsa, with just a touch of sadness in her voice. The horse’s blanket was a little longer on each side, presumably so that there was no risk of her boots contacting with his bare hide. “He likes the winter.”

“What’s his name?”

“Well, it was nearly Joan.” Elsa laughed. “If Anna’d had her way... but no. We decided that Balios might be a little more suited.”

She hoped that Major was still well. She had not seen him in nearly seven years now, and it was not as if Lady Tremaine or Drizella had liked him. Anastasia had seemed more scared of him, despite his gentle nature, but had shown that fear through screaming and slapping his cheek when he tried to sniff her. He would still only be twenty or so, as well.

“Is everything all right?” said Lord Elsa, voice lowered. Cinderella realised that she had let her melancholy show on her face. “If you would rather not come, I am not offended.”

“No, no. I was just thinking of the horse I learnt to ride with,” she replied.

The sound of hooves made her peer around Balios to see a smaller, pretty dapple-grey mare with a dark mane and a relaxed air. The groom led her over to Cinderella, and the mare promptly sniffed Cinderella’s hair and tried to snuffle at her neck.

Laughing, Cinderella extricated herself and stepped round to where she could see the horse properly. “Well, hello to you to.”

“That’s Glaer.”

“Something tells me I’ve made a friend already.”

 

 

 

 

The land outside the city was always beautiful. The crops might have been harvested this late in the summer, but the open land outside the farms was lush and green, scattered with summer flowers. Lord Elsa led the group, sternness melting away from her expression as they moved beyond the last of the houses and out into the countryside.

Glaer was a calm, steady horse, whose main bad habit was getting overly interested in the hedgerows they were passing and leaning over to nibble at them. A gentle pressure on the reins was all that it took to bring her back into line. The gusts of wind became more noticeable, and Cinderella was grateful to have her cloak on, but the sunlight was warm on her face and truth be told, it was exhilarating simply to be riding again. It was no gallop, no spree of jumps, but she was riding for the first time in years and, servant or no, felt a little closer to the child of a lesser Lord that she had once been.

Her past seemed very distant sometimes. Her family’s title had been barely more than an honorary one by then, with only three household servants even before her father died – and certainly no handmaiden. Her father had worked to manage his estate and its finances, and Cinderella had grown up expecting the same; she was a few months older than Drizella, and two years older than Anastasia. But since she had still been below the age of majority when her father died, everything had gone to her stepmother instead, and life had taken a different path. There was no point in being angry about it, though, and in this moment, with fresh air filling her lungs and no worries before her, Cinderella found herself not just happy, but content.

The land opened up before them, a trail along the boundary of the hedgerow more visible as flattened and short grass than as bare earth. Lord Elsa looked out across the open ground, lips curling into a smile, but then she glanced round to Cinderella and her sidesaddle position.

“You need not worry about me, my Lord,” she said. “If you wish to give your horse his head...”

Lord Elsa glanced at the open field again, temptation written on her features, then gestured to one of her men. “Solheim, remain with Miss Tremaine.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the man.

As she turned her horse to the open land, Lord Elsa shifted her seat, pushing up to a lighter position and moving her hold on the reins. With a click of her tongue and a minute shift of her legs, she set her horse to a walk, then quickly gathered speed as the guards gave exclamations of surprise and scrambled to try to follow her.

Cinderella laughed, heart high in her chest. Riding freely, Lord Elsa was breathtaking, her hair streaming behind her and her coat shining in the light, posture stable and relaxed as her horse stretched out his legs.

A more sedate pace would suit Cinderella just fine. She smiled to the guard that Lord Elsa had called Solheim, a young man with peach fuzz on his chin and ruddy cheeks, but he looked nervous around her. Even after these months, Cinderella was not used to that aspect of being a handmaiden. She occupied a strange position between the Lords and their ilk above, and the servants below. Someone who was less the sort to make friends with other servants might have struggled with the position, but Cinderella usually did not mind.

“Shall we?” she said, gesturing to the gentler path.

Glaer picked her placid way along the path, nibbling at longer stalks of grass here and there. Birds flitted past overhead. There was work which Lord Elsa needed to do this afternoon, but it was as routine as the work of a Great Lord could be, meetings and correspondence. The meeting with the tailor could easily wait, with Lord Anna visiting Weselton.

Cinderella’s train of thought was broken by a horse’s frightened scream, a human cry, and am immediately outburst of shouting.

“My Lord!” one of the guards was shouting. “Lord Elsa!”

Cinderella wheeled around to look across the field. She could see the guards, and Lord Elsa’s horse, but the Lord herself was nowhere in sight. As the guards started to dismount, she put her heels lightly to Glaer’s side, but with her heart in her throat it was all that she could do not to push her straight into a gallop. The last thing that she needed was to be unhorsed as well.

“Lord Elsa?” she called as she drew closer. She jumped down from her saddle, stumbling as she landed, and pushed through the guards to see Lord Elsa sprawled on the ground. She looked round to the guards. “What happened?”

“A – a rabbit hole, we think,” said one of the guards.

Cinderella dropped to her knees next to Lord Elsa. Elsa’s head was on her left arm, eyes closed and body limp, but there was no blood and she was breathing. Holding back her fear, Cinderella took Lord Elsa’s free hand and patted the back of it.

“My Lord. Lord Elsa. My Lord, please wake up.”

No response. She looked to the guards again. “One of you go back to the castle and fetch a doctor. Now!”

One of them, still on horseback, gestured to the others that he would leave before turning and quickly moving to a canter. The others gathered, uncertain, around them both, and Cinderella felt a pang of irritation. If they were not going to be helpful...

No, that did not matter.

“My Lord,” she said again, voice low to avoid it shaking. She put one hand on Lord Elsa’s shoulder, found it wet, and stared at her fingers in confusion for a moment before realising that she could see the pale gleam of skin through the blue of Lord Elsa’s clothes.

The ice, of course. Cinderella peeled off her cloak and draped it over Lord Elsa, seeing as she did so that water was starting to drip down the Lord’s hand. She was just taking her hand again when Lord Elsa groaned, raised her head slightly off her arm, and opened her eyes.

“My Lord?”

“What–” Lord Elsa tried to push herself away from the ground, but gasped in pain. As the ice faded from her left arm, it became clear that it was broken, skin falling in on itself. “Ah!”

“It’s all right,” said Cinderella. “I’m here.”

Saying it felt more than a little absurd. Then again, given how confused – how _frightened_ – the guards looked, it probably was a good thing that she was here at all.

She pointed to one of the guards. “Your coat.” When he simply stared at her, Cinderella looked at him more sternly. “Your coat. For the Lord. And the rest of you,” she added, more impulsively but figuring that perhaps they would take it more easily if all of them were involved.

Exchanging glances, the guards started fumbling with the buttons on their heavy coats. Cinderella was still holding Elsa’s hand, and felt a violent shiver run through her Lord. She looked round quickly to see that Elsa was resting her head against the ground, gritting her teeth, as she began to shiver.

“It’s cold,” Elsa breathed.

The wind coming in off the fjord was brisk, but then with a knot in her gut Cinderella remembered to whom she was listening. The _Snow Lord_ , people called Lord Elsa. “I know,” she said simply.

She took the first of the coats passed to her, folded it up, and slipped it under Lord Elsa’s head. The second went over Lord Elsa’s now-bare feet, and the third over her body again to hold in what warmth there might be there.

“I’m here,” she said, one more time, slipping her hand into Lord Elsa’s again. There was not much else she could think of to say, nor to do, just relieved that Lord Elsa was conscious again and the doctor would be on his way. “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sorry, Weselton, looks like you're just my designated butt monkey. Separating Anna and Elsa was going to require something politically important, and the death of Weselton fit the bill.
> 
> 2\. _Balios_ , in Greek Mythology, was one of the immortal horses given to Peleus as a wedding gift who later drew the chariot of Achilles. _Glaer_ is one of the steeds of the gods in Norse mythology. Joan is, of course, Joan of Arc, after whom I can see a small Anna trying to name every pet or animal she meets.
> 
> 3\. In case anyone is wondering whether it is possible to break your arm bones with your own head... yes. Yes it is. Speaking from experience.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note regarding drug use: this chapter contains a reference to period-typical use of laudanum (opium + alcohol) as pain medication.

An accident.

That was all that it was, of course. A rabbit-hole, a bad fall, and now Elsa found herself with a broken arm and seriously wounded pride.

But it was more than that, when it was the Great Lord of Arendelle. She had been bought back to the castle in a carriage, which was at least a little more private than on a stretcher, and Cinderella had helped her into one of her bathrobes for lack of anything else available and easy to get into with a broken arm. The doctor had looked her over, pronounced her otherwise well, and was preparing to give her laudanum to set her arm when Elsa had stopped him.

“My magic,” she said quietly. The Royal Doctor was one of the few who had known before things changed. “What of it?”

“I have never found anything in the books, my Lord,” the doctor said, regret in his voice. “You did say that you were knocked unconscious for a short while... perhaps it was simply that which stopped your magic.”

Elsa was not so sure. She had been unconscious for far longer when Hans had bought her back from the Ice Palace, and her magic had not wavered then. “One moment,” she said to him, and the doctor stepped back with a respectful nod.

Her magic was coming increasingly easily now, especially when it came to clothes. Elsa drew in her breath, visualised the glittering blue weave of ice in her mind, and breathed out, ready to feel the cloth roll down over her skin.

Instead, pain stabbed her left arm. She grunted with the pain, right hand clawing and body hunching over where she sat in her bed once again. A hand came to rest on her right shoulder, and she realised distantly that it must be Cinderella, who had never left her side and to whom a small part of Elsa wanted to cling.

When she opened her eyes again, there was no ice on her skin. Absurd; not all that long ago, she would have done anything to be rid of her magic. Now that she was finally accepting it, a broken arm had seemed to drive it from her.

“...my Lord?” Cinderella was speaking softly, but if she had said more than that it had been drowned out by the pounding in Elsa’s ears.

She swallowed down nausea, not just from the pain but from the absence of her magic. “I am fine,” she lied. “It is simply my arm.”

“It will need setting as soon as possible, my Lord,” said the doctor.

“Of course.” Elsa nodded. “Go and prepare as you need to, then return.”

With a bow, the doctor retreated, and left the room. The door closing behind him seemed absurdly loud in the confined space.

Cinderella’s hand left her shoulder, and Elsa felt its absence. Taking a deep breath, she looked up to see her handmaiden seated beside the bed, worry written in every line of her face. There was still mud on Cinderella’s dress, grass stains on her knees, and Elsa almost pointed it out before realising that she was in a considerably worse state.

For a moment, Elsa leant her head back against her headboard and closed her eyes. She wanted her sister. The pain was familiar, breathlessly tight around her chest and heavy in her stomach, and she told herself firmly that this time, it was different. They were adults now, and Anna was simply in Weselton; this was not some secret that Elsa was being forced to keep. It made it a little easier to breathe, but did not take away her urge to talk to someone, anyone, about the fear of her magic being gone forever, broken for good and unable to grow back like bone.

“My appointments for this afternoon have been cancelled, yes?” she said aloud. She was Great Lord, broken arm or no broken arm, missing magic or not. The only people she could possibly ask would be the trolls, and she had no-one that she could send there.

“Of course, my Lord. Tomorrow morning was only to be correspondence, in any case.”

“But tomorrow afternoon is the school,” said Elsa with a sigh, as the memory stirred. She huffed a half-laugh. “At least it is not the hospital, I suppose.”

That had been one of the many visits she had needed to make the previous month.

“Or the Royal Stables,” said Cinderella.

Elsa started laughing, then broke off sharply as it jostled her left arm where it was lying across her chest. Every less-than-even breath rattled her arm, and sent fresh spikes of pain through her. “Very true. I hope that Balios is not injured.”

“He’s fine. Not even a scratch.”

“Good.” An arm would heal. A good horse was harder to find. “Cinderella, it... appears that I may be in need of my former clothes, at least for a while. I understand that it is not part of your usual duties, and would be more work. There were one or two chambermaids who used to care for my wardrobe...”

Cinderella leant forward as if she was going to put her hand on Elsa’s right arm again, then caught herself and drew back. “No! I mean, no, my Lord, it is no problem.” She smiled. “I sometimes worry that I work too little to be called a handmaiden.”

“Working too little is certainly not in your nature,” said Elsa. Her room had been more deeply cleaned than ever before, besides the hours of secretary-like work that she asked of Cinderella. “I worry only that you will work too much.”

For a moment, it looked as if Cinderella was going to say something, but then she pressed her lips together again, smiled, and rested her hands on the bedspread. “Worry not, my Lord,” she said finally. “I will be fine.”

At Elsa’s request, the doctor gave her only a very small dose of laudanum for the pain as her arm was reset. Truth be told, it was like a lightning bolt, a flash that left a few after-images in its wake but mostly passed within the first few moments. Splinted, the pain was almost altogether gone, and Elsa felt comfortably well enough to rise from her bed once the doctor was gone.

She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and grimaced. There was mud on her face and in her hair, a bruise forming on her temple. Both of her palms were scraped, though the doctor had washed them thoroughly, and it seemed like every one of her muscles ached. At least her head seemed largely unaffected; apparently the hard head for which she had so often teased Anna ran in the family.

It was simple enough to call for a bath to be drawn, but when she went to release her hair from its braid she realised that it was already unravelling, the ice that had held it in place having melted away. Sweat and grime had stopped it from falling altogether loose, but she could not rightly describe that as a good thing.

Elsa’s dressing room had been almost entirely closed up after she became the Great Lord and accepted her powers. Those clothes which she did occasionally use were kept closest to the door and easiest to find, whilst other closets had been locked and the keys handed over to Gerda. Cinderella had left in search of the keys, and returned with them just as Elsa sat in front of her mirror and attempted to brush her hair.

Attempted, unfortunately, being the most accurate description. Elsa knew that in some places children who were left-handed were forced to use their right instead, but either her parents did not believe in that nonsense or they had decided they had bigger issues to contend with. As a result, she was quite used to using her left hand, and now the brush sat like an alien creature in her right hand as she dragged it through her hair in short, clumsy streaks.

When she was a child, she and Anna would do each other’s hair, although how tidy the results would be rather depended on who was doing the braiding. Elsa wished all over again that her sister were here, not in Weselton, or at least that it was possible to hide away in her rooms until Anna returned or she was able to start using her left arm again.

A hiss of frustration sneaking through her teeth, Elsa put down her hairbrush again a little more heavily than she had intended to. She saw Cinderella look over, and tried to keep her dignity intact. Something that was perhaps not helped by licking her right thumb, trying to rub a smudge of dirt off her cheekbone, and almost poking herself in the eye in the process.

“My Lord,” Cinderella started, but got no further as the door to the bathroom opened and one of the maids stepped in, bobbing a curtsey. “Your bath is ready, my lord.”

Elsa got to her feet. “Thank you. You are dismissed,” she said, with a small wave to make it clear that she meant only the more junior maid. She got to her feet again, wincing as her muscles complained, and crossed to the door to the bathroom.

A treacherous thought occurred as she reached the doorway, and she stilled and glanced back to Cinderella now opening the doors to the dressing room and pausing to look at the ring of keys which Gerda must have given her.

She cleared her throat. “Cinderella,” she called. Her handmaiden looked round. “If I... call for you, it may be that I require assistance.”

“Of course, my Lord. Oh,” Cinderella snapped her fingers. “A stool, on which to rest your arm. Please, give me one moment.”

A good idea, Elsa would have to admit. She was more concerned about actually being able to wash herself with her right hand, however, let alone deal with her hair afterwards. As Cinderella stepped out of sight in the dressing room, Elsa carefully touched her sore temple. Some powder would probably hide the worst of it, at least, or failing that a careful sweep of her hair. A pity it was too early in the year to easily get away with wearing a cloak rather than a coat, and simply covering her arm altogether.

Later, she told herself, she would concern herself with being the Lord. For now, the bath was looking a far more considerable challenge.

 

 

 

 

Only as they had taken Lord Elsa back to the castle had Cinderella actually cried. It had only been one sob, torn quickly from her, and she hid it in her sleeve and turned it into a cough when the guardsmen riding closest to her turned with concern in his face. She had quickly wiped the tears from each eye, again just once, and then calmed herself and focused on doing what she could for Lord Elsa.

A fresh robe, a hot water bottle for her bed, water for her to drink, but for too much of the time it seemed that all that she could do was sit beside Lord Elsa’s bed and wait to see what the doctor would say. She was relieved to hear that it was only Lord Elsa’s arm that was broken – as much of an injury as that was, she knew that a fall from a horse could be far worse.

Lord Elsa’s words about her magic were troubling, but Cinderella knew that the best thing she could do was be practical about the matter. Opening up the dressing room, ensuring that dresses were clean and aired and did not smell musty, even finding actual hair ornaments rather than the ice on which Lord Elsa relied. It would be strange to see the Lord in clothes of fabric, not ice, after so long, but she had been wearing it for twenty-one years before and it could not be that unthinkable to wear them again.

Of course, that would require her acting more like usual handmaidens, rather than a personal secretary. But... she could handle that, Cinderella told herself. She had quickly lost count of the number of times that she had been ordered to help her stepmother or stepsisters dress. She doubted that Lord Elsa would be anything like so rude if she did require assistance.

She retrieved the keys to the dressing room closets from Gerda, only to think of the stool for Lord Elsa’s arm and break to retrieve that instead. By the time that she returned, stool in one hand, Lord Elsa was leaning against the doorway, face even paler than usual, and Cinderella hurried over. She put a hand on Lord Elsa’s upper arm, and the woman looked up sharply.

“My Lord?”

“I am fine,” said Lord Elsa quickly. She took a deep breath.

“Here. Let me help you to the bath.” The linen-lined copper tub stood beneath the window, but close to the fire that the servants had also built up. It made the room almost uncomfortably warm, but Lord Elsa’s skin was cool to the touch.

Lord Elsa stumbled, but it was annoyance rather than pain that flitted across her face, and she flinched when Cinderella put out an arm as if to catch her. An apology sprung to Cinderella’s lips, but she held it back, not wanting to draw more attention for the moment.

As they reached the bath, Lord Elsa leant on it for a moment with her right hand, then drew herself up. “Thank you, Cinderella. You may return to what you were doing.”

Cinderella set down the stool beside the bath; it was about the right height, perhaps a little higher than would be ideal. She probably should have bowed to her lord’s wishes and left, but instead stopped, clasping her hands in front of her. “My Lord, I suspect you will need some assistance.” When Lord Elsa went to protest, she added: “With your hair, at least.”

Hair was always a tricky beast, and long hair more so. Cinderella kept hers shoulder-length, having found it unmanageable if it got any longer, but Lord Elsa’s hair was almost to her hips and considerably thicker.

Reluctance showed in Lord Elsa’s stiff posture, the way she leant slightly away from Cinderella. Then, catching herself, she stood up straight and nodded simply. “I understand, and appreciate your offer.”

All over again, she felt the nervousness that had almost claimed her when she had first taken her place as handmaiden. Cinderella stepped up behind Lord Elsa, raising her hands, only for her Lord to look at her in confusion.

“Your robe,” she said.

For just a moment, she could have sworn that Lord Elsa’s cheeks flushed. Then the woman turned and undid the tie on her robe, letting it slip from her shoulders. Cinderella gathered it up, trying to help Lord Elsa slip out first her right arm and then her casted left, but the pair of them seemed to end up all elbows and awkward angles, and Lord Elsa hissed in pain as her arm was jarred somewhere along the way, flinching.

Cinderella went to catch her, one hand coming to rest on her stomach over the robe that was still there, the other on her bare back. Pulling upright again, Lord Elsa did not meet Cinderella’s eyes, and Cinderella carefully slipped the robe away and draped it over her shoulder. She kept one hand on Lord Elsa’s back as the woman stepped into the bath and carefully sat down, setting her left arm on the stool which Cinderella had bought.

The water was hot enough to send up curls of steam, but Lord Elsa did not seem to notice as she closed her eyes and sighed, slipping down into the water. Her hair caught on the lip of the bath, and Cinderella reached over to push it in. When her hand brushed Lord Elsa’s shoulder, the Lord’s eyes snapped open and she jerked upright again.

“My apologies, my Lord,” said Cinderella quickly, withdrawing her hand. She straightened up, and stepped away. “I will fetch you a change of clothing.”

With half a curtsey, a sloppy bob of which she would have been embarrassed at any other time, she turned and walked from the room without waiting for a response.

Her hands were shaking as she pulled the door to – not quite closed – behind her, and stood by herself for the first moment since Lord Elsa had fallen.

The terror was not quite gone. It had hit her like a pulse, like part of her world was in danger of falling away, that terrible idea of a world without Lord Elsa in it. A cry, an empty horse, and her heart had stuttered. It washed over Cinderella again as she allowed herself to think about it for the first time, and she reached up to rub her cheeks in expectation of finding tears there.

Somehow, they were dry. Fresh clothes for Lord Elsa, she reminded herself, and crossed to the dressing room in search of garments that she had never seen, that Lord Elsa had never worn.

It was an exaggeration, of course, to say that Lord Elsa wore only clothes made of her own ice. Nightgowns, robes, the occasional set of riding gear. But she had taken the Snow Lord name that she had been given and inhabited, taking what had been meant as an insult and making it her own. The drawers containing her undergarments had never been locked, and it was easy enough to retrieve those, but she had to search before finding shirts or trousers, never mind braces or cravats. If Lord Elsa intended to see anyone else that day, she would need to be properly dress, and riding boots would not do; Cinderella sought out a pair of plain black ankle boots and was relieved to see that they were still polished, and needed only a gentle wipe with a damp cloth.

She hung the clothes ready on the low rail by the fire, close enough to warm but in no danger of igniting, and lingered for a moment, at a loss. Then her eyes fell on Lord Elsa’s hairbrush, still abandoned on the dresser, and decisiveness washed over her. There were things that she could do for Lord Elsa, despite the mixture of pride and trepidation which had to be the reason for her reluctant behaviour that day. She ached to be able to help Elsa – _Elsa_ , the woman, not the Lord – and if this was the only way in which she was going to be able to do so then she would accept it.

 

 

 

 

Elsa felt _exposed_. Not because of her lack of clothes; she would have felt exposed even clad in the heaviest of garments. But without her ice, and with her all-too-human frailty written in the cast on her arm, she felt too mortal to be a Great Lord, too young to be a leader.

It was easier to hide such fears when she was alone, but at the same time she did not want Cinderella to leave and the room seemed hollow in her absence. She trusted Cinderella, her intelligence and her discretion both, and oh, but there were few in this world that Elsa had ever felt able to trust.

Eyes closed, she let the heat of the water soak into her body. It was pleasant, even if the cold had never seemed to do her harm. It smelled faintly of bergamot. The warmth stole into her bones and unwound the tightness of her muscles, and Elsa noted the knots that stayed behind, the actual aches from the fall rather than the echoes that she felt everywhere at once. Her knees and left hip ached, and her left shoulder felt jarred, but she knew that she had been lucky in the end. And that was even without being a Great Lord, having a doctor who knew of her magic, and a handmaiden more devoted than Elsa could ever have believed she deserved.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard footsteps on the stone floor of the room again. This time, Elsa was expecting it to be Cinderella, but looked over to be quite certain in any case. She resisted the urge to cross her legs beneath the water, or put her right arm across her breasts, but the habit of privacy was hard to shake and she did bend one knee to cover her groin a little.

“My Lord,” said Cinderella. Only in hearing her voice calm did Elsa realise how shaken she had sounded early. “I have bought your hairbrush. I thought now might be the most appropriate time to attend to your hair.”

Water would only make it more necessary to have two hands to brush her hair, Elsa thought, then realised with a dull jolt in her stomach that Cinderella intended to be the one to do the brushing. Her words caught in her throat, but then with longing building in her she nodded and finally found her breath. “Yes. Yes, it would.”

Cinderella bowed her head. She bought over a three-legged stool from the far side of the room and sat at the head of the bathtub, behind Elsa. From the sound of it, the stool was wobbling, but then with a sigh of fabric Cinderella sat down.

Bracing herself with her good arm, Elsa tried to sit up without looking wholly inelegant, and was not all that sure that she succeeded. At least she did not splash. Finally she managed to sit up straight, and her fingers twitched but she did not startle when Cinderella reached forwards and carefully brushed hair back off her shoulder.

The brush of fingers over the base of her neck made Elsa want to shiver. “You know,” she said, the words almost impulsive as they spilled from her, “it is not since I was eleven that someone else has done my hair for me.”

A pause, then Elsa felt fingers raking through her hair and the gentle tug of a brush. “I was young when I learnt to do my own hair,” said Cinderella.

Such fragments were all that Cinderella had said regarding her history; she rode, her father had taught her to read and write; she did her own hair. She knew forms of address for the rulers of different Kingdoms, had quickly learnt the ins and outs of dealing with Elsa’s ministry, but kept her nails short so that she could clean things more easily, and when they had first met there had been ashes beneath her nails. It was strange, to be known so thoroughly and yet know so little about her in return.

“I tried to copy my mother’s hairstyles. I was not very successful at first, though,” Elsa said with a chuckle. She had spent a lot of time sitting in front of the mirror attempting to copy the lovely rolls and braids that her mother always had – put there, of course, by a lady’s maid, but which Elsa had tried to emulate alone. At the time there had been something frantic about her attempts, trying to be what her mother was so easily, but in hindsight she could not help but laugh at the lopsisded results. “I stuck to braids instead.”

“That is... still more ambitious than wearing it loose.”

Cinderella’s fingers were so gentle on her skin. Elsa did not remember it ever feeling like much when her hair had been done; she had a vague impression of sharper tugs on her scalp and requests for her to sit still. Now, Cinderella stroked up her neck and Elsa’s breath hitched at the gentle sweep of a touch. She closed her eyes, but that felt too vulnerable; opening them, she could only stare at the wall and not tremble.

Each touch seemed to ghost down her. It felt as much like a massage as it did a simple wash, as tender as only having her hands washed by Cinderella had ever felt. The hairs on the back of Elsa’s arms stood on end as Cinderella carefully sought out the shorter hairs from just above her ears, then ran across the base of her neck to check for any strays, before sweeping down the full length.

“There,” said Cinderella softly. “Untangled. I bought some hair pins, one moment...”

Her hair was drawn together at the crown of her head, and then she felt the familiar weight of a bun gathering, and the sense of pins being pushed into it to keep it in place. Cool air washed across the back of her neck and the top of her shoulders, and she shivered.

“My Lord?”

“I am fine,” Elsa said. She meant it, at least in that she was not hurt, nor angry. Not quite uncomfortable, either, although she felt as if something was bubbling beneath the surface of her mind which she could not quite get hold of. But the last thing that she wanted to do was stop what Cinderella was doing, whatever she was doing.

Fingers brushed against the skin on her left side, almost on her back. “You have a bruise forming here.”

“It is not the only one.” Elsa looked at her left arm ruefully. “Apparently I do not share Anna’s ability to avoid injury while indulging in ridiculous escapades.”

“I have some arnica cream, if you would like,” said Cinderella. Elsa looked round, curious, to see that Cinderella had rolled up her sleeves and undone the top button of her high-necked dress. She was flushed, though whether it was a blush or the heat of the water Elsa was not sure. “It is good for sore muscles, as well. I don’t use it too much nowadays.”

Touched, Elsa smiled. “You are too kind.”

“I’m not sure that’s considered possible in a handmaiden, my Lord,” said Cinderella, tone halfway to teasing. As Elsa laughed, she reached to the windowsill and picked up a facecloth and a glass jar of thick, salty scrub.

Her eyes flickered for a moment to Elsa, as if she were on the verge of asking for permission, but Elsa was unable to find words and simply did not refuse. She bit the inside of her lip and looked away again, watching from the very corner of her eye as Cinderella dipped the facecloth into the water and then scooped up the scrub onto it.

Elsa had never romanticised her bath in the way that some did. Baths were for getting clean, not for daydreaming or particularly for enjoying oneself. It was only a matter of function. And this should have been no different; Cinderella was only there because of Elsa’s broken arm, had never fulfilled this sort of role before. It was practical, close to a necessity, Elsa told herself.

Until one of Cinderella’s soft hands came to rest on her shoulder, and the other began to shape circles on her back with the facecloth and the scrub. It was rough, almost painful, but it had always felt good to shrug off the sweat and dead skin of the day, to feel fresh air on her. Elsa pressed back into the touch, rolling her head to the side to allow Cinderella to reach the top of her shoulder, round almost to her collarbone, more easily.

Her lips parted as Cinderella’s touch circled the curve of her shoulder, first rough with scrub, and then a second time softer and more lathered. In smooth circles – practical, Elsa told herself, businesslike – Cinderella started down Elsa’s back, pausing only to push a stray wisp of hair off the back of her neck. The touch reached the small of her back, right at the surface of the water, and Elsa’s back arched in response, her skin tingling and feeling flushed from her head to her toes. She felt almost breathless, unable to explain to herself why, her right hand gripping the edge of the bathtub as the Cinderella’s touch swept round to her side, the curve of her waist and hip.

“Are you all right, my Lord?”

Elsa’s eyes snapped open, and she realised that Cinderella’s hand had stilled, just on her hip. It was almost too close, too _intimate_ , but at the same time she wanted to press into the touch and deepen it. She looked away, taking a deep breath, almost too aware of the water on her skin and the place where Cinderella’s fingers touched her shoulder.

“Yes,” she said. She was surprised to hear her voice perfectly steady, if lower than usual. Her heart felt as if it was fluttering, her legs tense beneath the water. “I am...” she ran her tongue over her lips. “Unused to this.”

Without looking, she could not see Cinderella’s expression, but the moment of silence echoed. Then Cinderella’s hand slipped away from her shoulder, and Elsa was struck by a sense of _loss_ , so striking that she had to hold back a gasp.

“I apologise if I have overstepped my bounds.”

“No,” said Elsa quickly. She still did not look round, knowing that if she did she would lose all resolve. As long as she did not look, she could pretend that this weakness was a spectre in her mind, conjured up perhaps by the laudanum while her arm was set, and she would awaken stern and strong enough to remain the Snow Lord of Arendelle. As long as she did not look, she could allow herself to want. “Please, continue.”

The touch on her hip grew lighter for a moment, but then she heard Cinderella’s soft sigh and another circle swept over her, right at the level of the water. Elsa felt the moment when Cinderella swapped hands to change sides; Cinderella’s wet hand came to rest on her right shoulder, and dripped water down her chest and onto her breasts.

She wondered what it was like for other Lords, other Handmaidens. To be washed like this was another old-fashioned manner of service, but perhaps it was more perfunctory with time, something to be grown used to. If she had been in the habit of washing and dressing in the company of a handmaiden for as long as most would have by now, perhaps this would not feel so strange.

Cinderella worked up Elsa’s left side, then onto her shoulder, pausing only to reach for a dry towel to gently wipe Elsa’s upper arm before water could drip down towards her cast. The rhythmic circles were soothing, the pressure just right to feel as if it was in time with the beat of Elsa’s heart, and a warm flush spread through her.

“Right,” Cinderella breathed. She drew away for a moment, and Elsa looked round, holding back the emotions that warred in her chest, but Cinderella was simply moving the stool around to the side of the bath instead, by Elsa’s right arm.

Elsa’s tongue still felt pinned in place in her mouth. The feeling of being exposed swept through her again, and she bent her knee a little more, but Cinderella’s gaze was fixed professionally on Elsa’s hand as she swept the facecloth through the scrub once again and started to bathe Elsa’s right arm.

Arendelle was not like some kingdoms. Elsa knew that there were places in which those who loved their own gender were turned against, but Arendelle was not one of them; it had been that way for generations, and Elsa was grateful beyond words that she had not faced that, among all her other fears, when she was younger. It had seemed impossible that she might one day desire, or be desired, at all; she had cast any thoughts of romance aside many years ago.

In any case, Lords could not wear their romantic preferences on their sleeve. Nor did it make Arendelle any different from other lands, in that most women still preferred men. Over the more recent time in which she had been part of the outside world again, Elsa had started to feel sneaking concerns that she would be caught looking too long at a beautiful woman, that questions would be asked were she to dance with women more than with men. What had happened with Marisol had only made her more wary.

Now, sitting naked before Cinderella, too aware of the warmth of her own skin and the trembling of her breasts as she breathed, Elsa felt nervous all over again. She was not even sure why, but the insidious thought that she would somehow be seen through rose in her again.

“You are very gentle,” she said, as Cinderella passed over the sensitive inside of her wrist.

Cinderella smiled, eyes still on Elsa’s arm. “This is markedly easier than trying to bathe a cat, I must say.”

“A cat?” said Elsa, unable to hide her surprise.

“His name was Lucifer.” Cinderella’s tone became wry. “It was... appropriate.”

“I can only imagine. I should probably count myself fortunate that I have never tried to wash a cat.”

Turning over Elsa’s arm, Cinderella’s hands moved on, towards the crook of her elbow. “Horses are easier. And they appreciate it more.”

“I appreciate you,” Elsa said quietly.

For the first time, Cinderella looked up from Elsa’s arm, meeting her eyes. She flushed, and looked away again, turning her head away to look at the floor on her far side. “Thank you, my Lord,” she said.

The words hung in the air for a moment, and with a little regret Elsa put aside the comfort of Elsa’s touch and drew her arm away. “Here, I am sure that I can clean my own legs. I have some skill in using my right arm.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Cinderella put the scrub on the sill beside the bath, quickly rinsed out the facecloth without looking, and laid it on the side of the bath. Her lips parted as if she was about to speak further, but then she caught herself, gave a quick dip of her head, and walked away.

Her footsteps felt loud as she left the room. Elsa took several slow, deep breaths before picking up the facecloth in her right hand and shifting her grip a couple of times until it felt comfortable. The world was made for right-handed people, and she was fairly capable of using her right hand for some things.

Of course, her handwriting looked like a five year old’s, but for the moment at least she was more concerned with things like cleaning her teeth and eating. Even those could wait for now, though.

She had to squirm beneath the water a bit to rinse her right arm, scrub lingering on it from when Cinderella had been the one washing her, but then she started at her feet and worked her way up. Her own scrubbing was considerably rougher, and not just from the wrong-handedness, as she quickly worked over first her left and then her right leg, then quickly scrubbed her upper chest before rinsing clean.

Cinderella returned to the room, arms dry and sleeves long again, in time to scoop up two towels, one larger and the other smaller, from where they had been hanging beside the fire.

“Let me,” she said, stepping up beside the bath and draping the towels over her right shoulder, where it covered most of her front. Elsa was not sure what she was supposed to do, but Cinderella crouched down and put Elsa’s cast left arm around her neck – Elsa hissed in pain, but it was bearable, not so bad as to wholly strike her through – before slipping her right arm around Elsa’s back and matter-of-factly helping her to her feet.

The bath was slippery, the air was cold, and in contrast the secure warm hold of Cinderella’s arm and the towel was easy to almost stumble into. Elsa found her feet as quickly as she could. Things like this had once been about the Lord’s power, she told herself – washing, drying, dressing, anything that let the Lord stand still while his handmaiden or other servant worked around him – but she could not feel much more than impotent as Cinderella helped her wrap the larger towel around herself.

“I will sit by the fire,” said Elsa, rather than think too much about the logistics of drying herself. Her left arm was throbbing again, and as soon as she could she cradled it to her chest again, relieved to take the weight across her breasts.

Cinderella’s hand was still on Elsa’s upper arm, as if she was concerned that Elsa would fall over without some sort of support. Truth be told, Elsa did feel a little light-headed, but she knew well enough that it was just a lack of food and the ongoing pain.

“Your hands are very soft,” she said. The words spilled from her before she had time to think about them, and Elsa was immediately mortified, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

Laughing – nervously? Elsa could not even tell – Cinderella let her hand slip down to Elsa’s elbow. The line of her touch felt as if it lingered.

“The beeswax,” she explained. “It is nice on my hands, actually. It feels nicer than cleaning floors.”

“It probably smells nicer, as well.” Perhaps she was trying to save the conversation, Elsa thought, or perhaps she had given up on redeeming it. Whatever a conversation between a Lord and a handmaiden was supposed to be like, she was fairly sure that it was not this.

This time, Cinderella’s chuckle sounded more genuine. “That is certainly true.”

 

 

 

 

After a couple of steps, Elsa felt less giddy, and rearranged the towel so that her left arm held it in place without effort as they walked back through to her bedroom once again. The air was cooler and less humid away from the bath and fire, and she realised that Cinderella had quickly tidied the room and made the bed as well as fetching clothes.

She had not wholly given up on fabric clothes, but the sight of her wearing them would probably be considered unusual by the other residents of the castle and her ministers alike. The best that she could do, Elsa supposed, was dress well; she was inordinately relieved to cast an eye over the clothes that Cinderella had chosen and see that they were well-matched in colour and fabric.

A chair had been set beside the clothes and the fire, and Elsa did not have to work had to guess that was her destination. She settled into it carefully, more perching on the edge than anything else, and brushed her right hand across her forehead. Only her hair would take long to dry, she knew, and braided correctly it would be hard to tell anyway.

“You seem to know rather better than I what you are doing,” said Elsa, as Cinderella slipped her hold away and stepped over to the clothes. Cinderella smiled, more softly than in amusement, and plucked a pair of socks from the clothes, putting them over her dry left shoulder before kneeling down at Elsa’s feet.

It sent a strange jolt through Elsa to see the bowed golden head, the steady firm lines of her movement. Cinderella settled down, putting the second towel over her knees and picking up Elsa’s foot to rest it on her thigh.

It was on the tip of Elsa’s tongue to say that Cinderella did not need to do this, but she realised that they both knew that already. Not only was Elsa more than capable of drying her own feet, given the second towel and some privacy in which she could twist around in an ungraceful manner, but beside the fire she would dry off soon enough in any case. It began to sink in that this was a choice for Cinderella, and she could not help dimly wondering how much else had been a choice as well.

Cinderella dried off Elsa’s feet, all the way up to mid-calf, in the same implacably calm way that she had acted since she had entered the bathroom that second time. Flipping the towel over her shoulder again, she switched over to the socks, sliding them on to Elsa’s feet. They were knit silk, Elsa felt immediately, and though they would never again feel so natural as her ice did against her skin it was perhaps as close as she would come.

“Are you mostly dried, my Lord?” said Cinderella, looking up but not rising.

Elsa could not find words for the feelings that stirred in her chest as Cinderella knelt before her and looked up with concern in her eyes. Part of it she could recognise, the giddy feeling of someone concerned about her wellbeing. It was still strange; for so long people had been concerned about the _heir_ , good people though they were, and it was not until Anna had come searching for her that Elsa had started to really understand how it felt. To see it coming from someone else was more disconcerting, and she was not yet sure how she felt about it.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied. “I – I should be able to dress myself from here. I.” Elsa stopped abruptly when she saw Cinderella’s raised eyebrow, then chuckled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. It’s been many years since anyone has helped me dress, either.”

Not since she had been a child; but this felt so very new, and so very different. Cinderella rose to her feet and retrieved a set of drawers from the clothes, dropping down to one knee this time.

“It’s been a while since I’ve tied a cravat,” Cinderella said. She made it sound as if she was admitting something, but Elsa had not even known that Cinderella had once done so. She held the drawers so that Elsa could step both feet into them, which was admittedly a better way of doing things than Elsa would probably have been able to think of this day. “You might have to tell me the knot you prefer.”

Something else that Elsa had spent almost too much time practicing as a child.

Straightening up, Cinderella hooked one arm beneath Elsa’s right elbow to help her to her feet. Elsa went to clutch at the towel before realising that the entire idea would have been that she would leave it behind her on the chair. Perhaps just thanks to Cinderella’s efficiency, Elsa realised that she was not embarrassed by her nudity, more worried about feeling exposed. At least until Cinderella bent down, took hold of the drawers, and pulled them up in one smooth movement that left her hands on Elsa’s hips and her gaze still at the same height.

Elsa felt the touch as if it was burning on her skin. Cinderella did up the lace of the drawers, tying a neat bow, her fingers skimming against the sensitive skin at the base of Elsa’s stomach as she did so. Telling herself not to shake, Elsa held her breath, exhaling only as Cinderella picked up a small chemise in turn. It was easier when they stood, the clothes right in arm’s reach and the warmth of the fire giving her more strength to stand unsupported. The short chemise was better suited to trousers, and slipped on easily enough. Only as it was followed by a light-weight corset did Elsa start to begin to feel restricted by fabric, but when Cinderella gave her a concerned glance she nodded for her to continue.

Perhaps it was better to focus on the fabric wrapping around her, and not the way that Cinderella’s fingers kept touching her back, smoothing out her chemise, testing the fit of the corset on her sides. It was not cinched tight, just enough to firmly hold her breasts, but it felt so very different from the ice that moulded perfectly to her skin, always the perfect temperature and letting her breathe easily. With one final brush over her sides, Cinderella stepped back round to Elsa’s front again.

“How is that, my Lord?”

“Good,” said Elsa, by which she meant as good as any fabric undergarments could feel nowadays. She realised that Cinderella’s hand was lingering on her side, tried and failed to tell herself that it was to make sure that she did not fall, and took a wavering breath. “A little unfamiliar now, but good.”

With a soft laugh, Cinderella turned, her hand finally slipping away from Elsa’s side. She picked up the white shirt, crisp cotton with the cuffs and collars already in place and gleaming clean, and held it up. “I made sure to get one with somewhat wider sleeves,” she said, with a nod to Elsa’s cast. “It might not exactly be in fashion, but...”

“I can always leave my jacket on over the top.” Elsa smiled. “You seem to have thought of everything.”

“Not cufflinks,” said Cinderella, in a tone that sounded impressively like a curse. Elsa laughed.

“They are easy to find. Do not worry.”

Shaking out the shirt, Cinderella helped Elsa to slip on the left sleeve, careful over her cast where it still hurt. It was a bit more of an effort to get her right arm far enough back to get into the sleeve, and before long Elsa gave up and started giggling at her own contortions, even if it made her arm hurt more from her own laughter. For a moment, Cinderella tried to keep a straight face, then ended up laughing as well. She pulled the large towel off the chair and draping it out of the way by the fire, gesturing for Elsa to sit down again.

“The great Snow Lord,” Elsa managed between giggles. “Defeated by a rabbit hole and a _shirt_.”

It was too much. She put her face in her hand, elbow on the arm of the chair, and laughed helplessly. Cinderella was giggling as well, making an attempt to get the shirt into a good position for Elsa to put it on then giving up and leaning on the back of the chair. Only when her arm began to hurt too much did she restrain herself, taking deep breaths and cradling her left arm with her right until she was able of reaching round and fishing for the other sleeve. This time, Cinderella helped to guide the sleeve into place, and they were successful in getting the shirt into place. Cinderella smoothed the cotton across Elsa’s back as Elsa tried to do up one of the buttons with her right hand alone. It was not something that she had ever tried to do, and this time she was prepared for when it was less than successful.

“No,” she admitted, as Cinderella carefully pinched and straightened the tuck between her shoulderblades. “Completely defeated.”

With another chuckle, Cinderella pushed the chair aside, turned Elsa around, and began to do up the buttons from the lowest one up. Her fingers were nimble, movements confident, and Elsa could not help watching them as they worked their way up from level with Elsa’s hips towards her chest, stopping only as her cast arm got in the way.

“Oh, hang on...” Elsa tried to lift the arm itself, but was answered with a shock of pain. With a hiss, she clasped her right arm to her left, and when the aching ebbed lifted them both together over her head. “Will that...”

“It should work,” said Cinderella with a shrug. She moved on to the next button up, her fingers brushing against Elsa’s breasts as she followed the line of the buttons. These shirts had been made not long before Elsa had taken her ruling position as Great Lord, and had hardly been worn, but Elsa was struck that she must have put on weight since that time, as the shirt felt tighter than it had before. Either that or it was how familiar with the weightless ice she had become. Finally, Cinderella reached the last button on Elsa’s chest, doing it up and leaving her collar for now. “There we go.”

“My second foe of the day, defeated, if not by me,” said Elsa. She lowered her arms again. “I’ll take it.”

“What is a household for?” said Cinderella.

The trousers, too, predated her coronation, and were far darker in shade than Elsa would usually have worn these days. They were a deep navy, with a wide pin stripe in mid-blue running through them and a button fly. Elsa’s balance was improved enough that she could step into the trousers one leg at a time with only a hand on the back of the chair for support, though once again she found herself having to hold her breath as Cinderella did up the buttons on the trousers, feeling her cheeks grow hot. It was one thing to have buttons done up on her shirt, but another to have Cinderella’s hands at her groin was quiet another, especially with the slim fit of the trousers over her hips.

In a few seconds – a few painfully long seconds, from where Elsa stood – Cinderella was done, and immediately reached to the small of Elsa’s back to smooth the braces up and into place. Even through all the layers of clothing, the drag of Cinderella’s hand over her back sent a shiver down her spine, and the careful way that Cinderella drew both sides of the braces over Elsa’s shoulders, ensuring that they sat straight over her breasts and clipping them onto the rivets on her trousers, adjusting them slightly.

Elsa took a deep breath, and her braces immediately slid sideways off her breasts. She looked down, mortified, then looked up again and caught Cinderella’s eyes. Her handmaiden was very carefully trying to keep a straight face, but when she looked down to straighten the braces, Elsa saw the twitching of her lips all the same.

“They won’t be visible behind the waistcoat, anyway,” said Cinderella, picking up the item in question. It was white silk with gold embroidery; Elsa had preferred silver for many years, but that was not fitting for a Great Lord.

As she was putting her left arm through the waistcoat, Elsa could not help a huff. “The braces, or my breasts?”

Mercifully, Cinderella laughed, the sound bright and sunny and pealing. Elsa’s own laugh was tinged with disbelief that she had said the words, with the sort of casual joking that she usually preserved only for Anna.

For Anna, she supposed, but sometimes _in front_ of Kristoff, or even of Cinderella. Perhaps she could have more than one set of walls around herself.

“I... will refrain from saying,” said Cinderella. She glanced at Elsa in a way that reminded her of Marisol and made her chest ache. They were so different – a Queen and a handmaiden, a confident extrovert and a more restrained, calm personality – but for a moment there was the same light in Cinderella’s eyes that cut through Elsa in just the same way.

For a moment, she thought that it would hurt. But she was buoyant, floating despite the lingering dull pain in her arm. Despite everything.

Cinderella did up the waistcoat, then adjusted the back so that it fitted properly, before checking that it did indeed hide the braces completely. “The doctor left material for a sling,” she said finally, as Elsa shifted the waistcoat slightly and grew used to its feel once again. “I can make one up for you.”

“You know how to make a sling, as well?” Elsa asked, genuinely surprised.

“My roommate,” said Cinderella. With fabric and pin retrieved, she formed the sling around Elsa’s cast, steadied the arm at the correct angle, and tied the fabric at the back so that the knot was hidden from view. “Jacobine. Jaq. She works in the stables. Sprained her wrists more than a few times over the years.”

“Which would be how you always arranged for my horse to be ready.” Elsa nodded as the piece fell into place. She had always suspected that it was Cinderella, somehow, and had taken to mentioning a desire to ride in Cinderella’s presence in the knowledge that her horse would somehow be ready at the right time. A friend who worked in the stables was the missing piece.

For a moment, Cinderella’s smile slipped. “Perhaps it would have been better if I had not said anything about today.”

“If I had ridden three feet to the right, it would not have happened,” said Elsa. She put her right hand on Cinderella’s upper arm; Cinderella looked surprised, and slightly wistful, and might have pressed her shoulder slightly into the touch or that might have just been Elsa’s imagination. “Please. Do not blame yourself for this, not for a moment.”

Cinderella flashed her a smile, but it did not seem real like her laughter had been. She folded the sling very neatly, and pinned it in place, around Elsa’s elbow. “There,” she said. “Your cravat and jacket can sit over the top. I’m sure you will carry it better than Lord Nelson.”

“Hopefully not for so long.”

 

 

 

 

Perhaps it had been a bad idea. The thought first came to Cinderella as she was doing up Elsa’s drawers around her slender hips, as her fingers were skimming Elsa’s skin and every touch felt warm and welcome. Lord Elsa was only allowing this because she could not currently make her own clothes of ice or dress herself, after all; she might well have been made uncomfortable by the whole thing.

She wanted to take Lord Elsa’s hands and promise her that everything would be well. She wanted to fix things, but there was nothing for her to fix. The best that she could do was help with the clothes, talk to the cooks to make sure that Lord Elsa received food that would be easy to eat one-handed, and simply... do what she could.

When her fingers brushed Lord Elsa’s skin, the urge to fix things became stronger. The desire to fight the momentary flickers of fear and pain that she still saw in Lord Elsa’s eyes swelled in her, and Cinderella pushed them forcibly aside and dredged up memories of seeing the servants preparing her father’s clothes, of her father teaching her how to tie a cravat.

It got easier from the first time that Lord Elsa laughed. There was something a little ridiculous about it, two grown women struggling with a shirt, and Cinderella felt her love for her Lord, a liege’s love, a handmaiden’s love, shattering into a thousand pieces and reforming as something else, something that made every touch feel like too much and made her question herself all over again.

Whether this was a good idea. Whether it was even a passable one.

Whether she had her own motives for this.

Lord Elsa was beautiful. Cinderella had always known that, had known it since she first saw Lord Elsa from a distance when they had both been little more than children. It had been a fact, as secure as saying that _the sky is blue_. In the same way, she had known that Lord Elsa was intelligent, was driven. And then she had become Lord Elsa’s handmaiden, and found out that Lord Elsa was witty, and kind, prone to moments of fear that cut through her like a knife, and then for one terrible moment she had thought that Lord Elsa was _gone_ and it had been enough to tear a hole in the world that Cinderella had been trying to create. A world through which Lord Elsa could move as she wished, with Cinderella’s actions easing the way.

She responded with her own jokes, took care over Lord Elsa’s clothes, and settled the cravat in place over the sling so that it would hide where the fabric was tied. Lord Elsa had to guide her through it, each fold and tug of the raw blue silk, and perhaps Cinderella could have remembered if she had been able to tear her eyes away from the long slender line of Lord Elsa’s neck, from the way that her lips moved as she spoke, the way that her voice reverberated in Cinderella’s fingers with each word.

The last details were easier. Sapphire cufflinks to match the cravat, a simple braid with the fringe teased just loose enough to soften Lord Elsa’s face, the way that it suited her best, and plain black ankle boots laced firmly in place.

The clothes were as they had been before Lord Elsa’s coronation, Cinderella thought as she checked her Lord over one last time, but the person within them was different. Happier.

She wondered if she had been a part of that.

“There,” she said finally, smoothing and squaring the shoulders of Lord Elsa’s jacket. “It may not be the match of your usual garb, but...”

“Thank you,” said Lord Elsa. She smiled tenderly, and Cinderella felt warm.

It was so strange to see Lord Elsa arrayed like this, and there were still marks and bruises on her skin. Carefully, Cinderella reached up and teased some of Lord Elsa’s fringe so that it covered the mark on her temple, but hesitated when she saw the fond way that Lord Elsa was looking at her. It felt more intense, not quite more _honest_ but with some closeness, coming perhaps from the woman and not the Lord.

Cinderella took Lord Elsa’s right hand in both of hers, careful when her fingers touched the scraped palm. She ran her thumbs over the knuckles, and was not sure whether or not Lord Elsa squeezed her hand a little in return.

“My Lord,” she said softly. Just to see Lord Elsa standing again was like a triumph and a relief both together. She raised Lord Elsa’s hand to her lips, and gently kissed the knuckles, wondering for a moment if she should lower her eyes but in the end not looking away. She never wanted to look away again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have notes for this chapter. Just a whole bunch of id. Sorry, not sorry.


	5. Chapter 5

Rise. Wash. Dress. Eat. Things that had been so simple when she had her magic and use of both her arms were suddenly a trial, even if they became easier after that first slow, frustrating day. Now she needed Cinderella to wash her right hand, brush her hair, even to do her cravat and the buttons on her trousers.

It could have been another than Cinderella, she supposed, but somehow Elsa suspected that would have been a humiliation. Cinderella’s presence was the furthest from humiliating that anything could be.

Her arm very quickly settled down and stopped hurting, and she grew used to wearing the sling and sleeping on her back, supported by pillows and with her arm propped over her chest. Getting used to wearing clothes of actual fabric was harder, especially when it came to not catching her hair in her coat or not adjusting her collar when in public. In private, she and Cinderella could struggle with a cravat all they wished, and dissolve into laughter when Cinderella gave up with a huff of frustration and tied it in a bow instead.

And Cinderella was always there. A supporting touch on Elsa’s elbow; a fair hand to write letters; a word with the cooks that ensured that her private lunches were sandwiches, her breakfasts porridge, and generally that her food did not include anything that required a knife.

The only thing that Cinderella could not address, and which Elsa kept entirely to herself, was her magic remaining at bay. After a few days, she tried again, and this time there was a glitter of ice on her fingertips before pain overwhelmed her, stabbing across her broken arm and driving the breath from her lungs.

“Very well,” said Elsa to herself, in the quiet of her room. “I will wait.”

If there were murmurs among her ministers and court, people were wise enough to keep it far from her ears. Within a few days she was going about life as if nothing had changed at all, and only the sling on her arm and Cinderella being closer at hand than ever were there to tell any different.

And if it helped her to face the world when she saw Cinderella smile, or felt the touch of her fingers, then that was nobody’s concern but hers.

 

 

 

 

She still missed Anna. Some days, she would find herself walking towards Anna’s room without thinking, or decide that there was something that she must tell her sister before realising that it would still be some time before they would meet again, and the loneliness would wash over her. The worst was when the first full draft of a trade arrangement came through from the Southern Isles, and all that Elsa wanted to do was show it to Anna, share with her that perhaps they could fix this after all, only to remember the letter from Weselton and everything that came with it.

That night, she curled into her window seat, jacket and waistcoat discarded and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, with the letter from Weselton in her hand. She was not even sure what had made her seek it out, but the need to hold it in her hand had sent her back to her study, searching one-handed through her paperwork until she had retrieved it, and then hiding it inside her sling until she was back in her room.

Three times, she read it through, searching for the man behind the words and suddenly, horribly gripped with fear that she had allowed her sister to go to this man’s Duchy without her, with so few armed men to protect them. Before she knew it, tears were rolling down her cheeks. The letter crumpled in her hand as she curled in on herself, tucking her knees to her chest and bowing her head to cry into her knees.

She wanted her sister back. She wanted her sister _safe_. For all that Anna was better at protecting herself than Elsa had ever been, it still felt worse than ever to have her so far away.

When the door opened, she looked up quickly, wiping her eyes with the back of her right hand. She knew who it would be, of course; there was no other that would enter her rooms unwarranted, especially not at such a late hour.

“My Lord!” Putting aside the book that she carried, Cinderella hurried over. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” said Elsa, but her voice cracked. She realised that she was still clutching the letter, and tried to smooth it out even as she swung her legs down from the window seat. “No, I am fine.”

Cinderella produced a white handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to Elsa. Usually Elsa would have simply produced one out of ice, or the tears would have frozen and been more easily wiped away. Now, that was not an option. She waved the handkerchief away as she sat up, but Cinderella pressed it towards her more insistently and she finally gave in, relinquishing the letter in order to take it.

As Elsa wiped her eyes, Cinderella glanced over the letter. Elsa made no move to stop her. She had read it aloud the first time, and was plenty privy to everything that was happening in Elsa’s life, these days. After a moment, she folded the letter up again and placed in on the sill beside Elsa, then crouched down and took Elsa’s hand in hers.

Her hands were always so warm. Elsa had realised that early on; everyone’s hands were warmer than hers, but it was more noticeable with that handful of people with whom she actually had contact regularly. Now her thumbs brushed over the back of Elsa’s hand and send warm, calming waves through her.

“Lord Anna will be fine,” she said softly.

Unable to help herself, Elsa laughed. “You can read me too well.”

“It is not that hard to know that you worry about your sister,” said Cinderella. Her hands shifted, but Elsa was not ready to let go of them just yet and curled her fingers tighter. “I do not know this Duke Karl II Frälse, but... he wrote to you immediately. It would have done him no harm to let the silence between your kingdoms stand.”

“He could use this as a trick. He could...”

“He could risk war with the most powerful magic known in the world.”

Elsa’s breath caught in her throat, and she looked into Cinderella’s eyes in search of the jest but found nothing there. Her mouth dried, and she felt her hand start to shake. “With a green Lord with fewer allies than a generation ago.”

“You are doing well with allies,” said Cinderella, tone serious. “Every land that you have approached has responded well. I do not know how many allies these other lands have, but from what I have seen? Arendelle cannot be spoken against in its diplomatic matters.”

Elsa opened her mouth to protest again, but Cinderella squeezed her hand quickly.

“My Lord, please... trust me.”

The request itself was not so sobering as the realisation that Elsa already did. Other than the doctor, Cinderella was the only person who knew that Elsa’s days without using her magic had been a matter of necessity and not of choice. Having sat in on each of Elsa’s meetings for months now, she was probably aware of more of the matters of state than some of Elsa’s ministers. There was not much left in the world for Elsa to trust her with.

Slowly, Cinderella lifted Elsa’s hand and pressed her lips to the backs of her fingers. The brush of her breath over Elsa’s skin was warm and soft, and her lips were firm, and only when it was as she remembered did Elsa know for sure that she had not imagined the kiss to her hand on that first day. There had been part of her that had wondered, and she had not dared raise it in case it had been just a matter of seeing her well enough to continue about her business after falling from her horse. But this time, it could not be that.

“With everything,” said Elsa.

Cinderella slipped the handkerchief out of Elsa’s hand and stood up, then bent close to wipe the tears from Elsa’s cheeks. Her hand cupped Elsa’s chin, eyes scanning Elsa’s face, and Elsa could have sworn that for a second Cinderella’s gaze alighted on her lips just before she drew away. Before she could step back, Elsa caught hold of her hand again, an ache in her chest and warmth flooding her from the touch.

She stood up, Cinderella’s hand still in hers, so that they stood eye-to-eye again. Her own nervousness was mirrored in Cinderella’s face, but neither of them spoke, even as they stood and looked into each other’s eyes. The moment lingered in the air between them, and what courage Elsa had found began to falter as the seconds ticked past.

Finally, barely above a whisper, it was Cinderella who spoke. “You are everything, my Lord.”

 

 

 

 

Lord Elsa kissed her.

It had to be Lord Elsa; Cinderella could never dare to be so bold, not with the handmaiden she was, not with the fear that Lord Elsa had cradled for so long. Years ago, Cinderella had swapped kisses with one of the other maids, but it had only been a matter of crushes and fooling around, accompanied by giggling. And Lord Elsa...

She had seen Lord Elsa’s tears over a woman before. She never wanted to see them again.

The first kiss was uncertain, as first kisses always were; their noses bumped together and their lips only brushed dry over each other. Elsa’s hand shifted on hers, palm cool and just a little damp, and Cinderella carefully put her other hand on Lord Elsa’s waist, feeling her trembling. The second kiss was firmer, tangibly different from an accidental touch, and at the third Cinderella felt certain enough to kiss back and not just offer up her lips.

Lord Elsa drew in a shaking breath, and Cinderella would have drawn back but for the edge of wonder in it. Another kiss, and another, until she lost count, lost everything but the feeling of the mouth on hers. They swayed together, not quite pressing close because of Lord Elsa’s cast between them, and when their lips broke apart they remained with their foreheads touching, eyes closed.

“Cinderella...” whispered Lord Elsa.

Cinderella pressed another kiss to her skin, this one to the corner of her mouth. She could almost taste the uncertainty on Lord Elsa’s skin, feel it in her fingertips. “I swear, my Lord, I will not leave you.”

Breathlessly, with an edge of tears to it, Lord Elsa laughed. “How do you read me so well?”

Because they was so strongly a part of each other’s lives, that was the only answer that Cinderella could think of, but there was no time for it to reach her lips before Lord Elsa pressed another feverish kiss to them.

It was brief, though it lingered as she slowly drew her lips away again, but did not step back. “Then stay,” she said quietly.

Cinderella reached up with her free hand to stroke Lord Elsa’s cheek, relieved to find it dry. “Always,” she promised.

Finally, Lord Elsa took a step back, although she kept hold of Cinderella’s hand. Her eyes were still pink, her cheeks flushed, and she looked tired, but at last she was smiling again.

“It is late,” said Cinderella. “You should rest.”

“I doubt that I can sleep,” Lord Elsa replied, a dry note to her words.

Cinderella chuckled. “No, but I’m sure there are more comfortable places to sit than the window seat. Here.” Slipping her hand free of Lord Elsa’s, she removed the first of her cufflinks with an easy flick, and struggled only slightly more with the second where the cast on her left arm held the fabric taut. Reaching up for the cravat, she smiled. “Let me.”

Of course, Lord Elsa did, standing still for Cinderella to undo her cravat and loosen her top button. She also allowed herself to be led by the hand to the bed, and sat down to let Cinderella take off her boots and socks.

“I will be glad when I can go back to my ice,” admitted Lord Elsa. Cinderella sat beside her on the bed and took her right hand. “Good as our tailor is, there is only so fine a fraction of an inch can be.”

“But no limit to layers that tailors can produce,” said Cinderella. “At least you need not worry about petticoats.”

“These layers are enough.” Lord Elsa looked over what Cinderella wore – a nicer dress than she had worn when she was still a chambermaid, it was true, but still simple and plainly cut. Cinderella had never developed a taste for fussy clothes. “Will you tell me, now, where it is you come from to know what you do?”

As always, Cinderella’s first instinct was to brush the question aside, but she knew that to Lord Elsa, of all people, she owed honestly. She sighed, but nodded. “You may wish to sit more comfortably, however.”

“There is a place more comfortable than my bed?” Lord Elsa cocked an eyebrow.

It had not passed Cinderella by that her suggestion might be misconstrued, but she bent down to slip off her own shoes and sat back on the bed, moving pillows aside so that she could lean against the headboard. Understanding, Lord Elsa laughed, and did her best with the use of only one arm to move round and sit beside Cinderella. She slipped her arm out of her sling, put the linen aside, and pulled a pillow onto her lap to rest her arm on instead.

“I know that I do not talk much... you know what I have told Gerda, I suppose?”

“That you are orphaned, that you had worked in a large house for some years before coming here, and that the family you once worked for were experiencing some financial difficulties.”

Throughout the years, Cinderella had kept to those core elements, finding that they had been enough. People had accepted them, offered their sympathies, and from time to time said that it explained why she sometimes seemed more mature than her years. Only Jaq knew more. But now she wound her fingers into Lord Elsa’s and took a careful breath, trying to ready words that she had never really thought she would dare to speak.

“My father was a minor lord,” she began. Surprise flickered in Lord Elsa’s eyes, but she kept her composure, only held Cinderella’s hand a little tighter. “My mother died when he was young, and he remarried. He thought that I needed a mother.”

She had never been angry for her father for that mistake. A mistake was all that it had been, the idea in his head that Cinderella desperately needed a mother, the idea that had led them down this road. Perhaps if he had not thought such, things would be different. But there was no changing what had been done, and what she felt was more a sadness for what might have been, and in no way anger at what was.

“But after he died, she... well, she did not like me,” said Cinderella. Understatement had done well by her this far, after all, and Lord Elsa remained silent. “She favoured her daughters. But she was not good with money,” she shook her head, “and before too long it told. She could not afford the staff my father had kept. Before too long, a simple solution occurred to her that dealt with both together.”

“She made you work as if you were staff.”

Cinderella nodded. “I never lied to Gerda.” It was a statement, not a defence, but she wanted to make sure that Lord Elsa knew. “But I only told her...”

“Enough.”

“Yes,” she said, and sighed. “I kept house, at first. As money became worse, I cooked as well, and worked as lady’s maid to them all.” What education she had came from listening at their doors or reading the books which they tossed aside, though Lady Tremaine would never have thought that she was readying Cinderella for the world by making her scrub floors and wash bedlinens. “When I was sixteen…” she had to pause, to take a steadying breath, as for a moment the world around her seemed to grow cold and close.

Lord Elsa leant in, pain and apology written across her face. “You do not have to say. I am sorry, I did not realise…”

But Cinderella shook her head. “She told me that I was grown, and that it was time to leave,” she said. “Jaq hid me in the stables the first night… I spoke to Gerda in the morning. It was only two nights that I had nowhere to be, and Jaq helped me. There are far worse things for a young girl to face.”

She had heard stories of horror over the years, and she knew that she had much to be thankful for, not least Jaq. They had met when Cinderella had helped to catch and calm a runaway, spooked horse when they were both little more than children, and Jaq had paid her back a hundredfold in hiding her in the loft of the stables to sleep for those two nights. Cinderella had not said that her birthday was in the depth of the winter.

“Just because there are worse things,” said Lord Elsa, twining her fingers through Cinderella’s, “does not mean that happened to you is forgivable. I am sorry to hear what happened.”

“I do not regret it,” said Cinderella. There was a polite uncertainty on Lord Elsa’s face, as if she was not quite sure what to make of Cinderella’s words. But Cinderella smiled. “Truthfully. If things had been different, I would never have found my way to you.”

Lord Elsa raised her left arm, as if she was going to reach for Cinderella, then looked at the cast like it had caught her by surprise. Unable to help herself, Cinderella giggled, and lifted Lord Elsa’s arm further, craning her neck so that she could reach down and kiss the knuckles again.

With a smile, Lord Elsa bent in to kiss Cinderella again instead, reaching her cheekbone first then, as Cinderella looked up, capturing her lips again. And for the first time, Cinderella had laid the truth out bare, and it had been each word the truth.

 

 

 

 

When Lord Anna’s ship came back, they raised the royal standard above the docks to welcome the heir home. Although her back was to the window, Cinderella knew the moment that it happened; Lord Elsa’s face lit up, and she sat up straighter in her chair. For the last few days, they had moved from Lord Elsa’s study to one of the parlours overlooking the harbour for that very reason, and it was more than worth moving around chairs and tables, and occasionally having to go back to the study for a forgotten letter, just to see the look on her face.

Cinderella immediately put aside the letter on which she was working. “You have no meetings until late this afternoon,” she said. “We are free to go now, if you want.”

Elsa’s eyes were alight, jubilance taking years and worries from her as she got to her feet. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

“I can have a carriage fetched for you, if you wish. Would you like me to come with you, my Lord?”

Lord Elsa stopped, right arm inside its sleeve but the rest of her coat dangling, and looked at Cinderella in absolute amazement. “Why would you think anything else?”

She felt her cheeks grow hot, but could not help smiling at the warmth in Lord Elsa’s words. With Lord Elsa’s gaze still tender and surprised on her, she helped straighten up the rest of the Lord’s coat and stroked back a couple of stray wisps of hair that had come free from the braided bun she wore. As she did so, Lord Elsa turned and pressed a feather-light kiss to the inside of her wrist, and Cinderella was quite sure that her blush deepened.

“My Lord,” she said a little more hesitantly, hand falling away. “If your sister…”

She could not quite bring herself to say the words, and turned her eyes to the ground. Lord Elsa frowned then after a moment her expression softened. She reached up to put her hand beneath Cinderella’s chin, thumb coming to rest on her lower lip.

“My sister only wants me to be happy. She will have no reasons to dislike you, or to disapprove of you.”

A handmaiden, a minor Lord’s disenfranchised daughter? “I can hardly be called your equal–”

Lord Elsa cut her off with a kiss. There was heat behind it, and it seemed to steal Cinderella’s breath, sending her eyes fluttering closed and making her heart pound in her ears. When Cinderella went to continue her protests, Lord Elsa kissed her again, until finally Cinderella broke away with a soft laugh.

“I see you will accept no arguments.”

“Absolutely not,” said Lord Elsa. She was still smiling, her cheeks pink, and Cinderella could not help being amazed at how she kept finding more ways to look as beautiful as she did. “Besides, you don’t come with a pet reindeer that tries to sit on my throne from time to time.”

“Well, I try to have my advantages.”

“Come on,” Lord Elsa said, with a tug on Cinderella’s hand. “I don’t want to miss the ship. We can walk down there, the weather is more than good enough.”

Cinderella had hardly been about to suggest riding as an alternative, but she doubted that anyone would have begrudged Lord Elsa using a carriage while one of her arms was still in a cast. She squeezed Lord Elsa’s hand then, as they reached the door, slipped away so that she could open the door for her. She was, after all, a handmaiden first and foremost.

“After you, my Lord.”

 

 

 

 

Anna came bounding down the gangplank almost before it was down, enveloping Elsa in a hug and a delighted laugh that broke off abruptly. Horror overtook her face, and she stepped back to hold Elsa at arm’s length, nearly knocking over Kristoff as he tried to follow.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Your arm!” Her eyes came to rest on the empty left sleeve. “What happened to your arm?”

“It’s just broken, I haven’t lost it!” Elsa reassured her quickly. When Anna looked no less horrified, Elsa took hold of her hand and tugged her the rest of the way off the ship so that Kristoff could stop looking quite so wobbly, not missing the reassuring smile that Cinderella gave him. “It’s just _broken_ , Anna!”

“Who was it?” Anna’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll skin them alive. They’d better hope they’re in the dungeons, or–”

“You will do _no such thing_ to poor Balios,” said Elsa. Anna looked at her in bewilderment, and Elsa could not help laughing as she pulled her sister back into a second hug. “I fell off my horse, Anna, it was hardly an act of war.”

“See?” Kristoff put in. “Horse-riding is dangerous.”

Elsa laughed, but when Anna turned to face him she had no doubt that there was a tongue being stuck out in his direction. “I’m not quite sure how much safer it is to be on the back of a reindeer, but I will take your word for it,” she added quickly, before he could protest the besmirching of Sven’s honour, or whatever it was with reindeer. “I hope that you weren’t planning on a carriage home.”

“Oh, walking is fine,” said Anna, looping her left arm through Elsa’s right. “It might make the ground stop wobbling a bit.”

‘Sea legs,’ Kristoff mouthed over the top of her head.

“Come on,” said Elsa. “We can leave the sailors to disembark in peace. People are glad to see you back, as well,” she said, with a nod up to the streets where there was a significant amount of flag-waving and cheering going on.

Anna pulled a face. “Really? You’d think that we’d never been on a ship before. Ooh, is there a party?” she said, probably remembering just how ready Arendelle was these days to take any excuse for a party that it could get. “Could we go and join the party? It would be so fun!”

“I’ve had enough problem with my own shirts these past weeks,” replied Elsa firmly. “I do not want to see what it would be like to face a street party. Besides, you are somewhat covered in sea-spray.”

Less than surreptitiously, Anna sniffed herself. “You have a point.”

“So, how was Duke Karl II Frälse in person?” she said, unable to restrain herself from asking for any longer. It had to have gone at least fairly well, she knew, for Anna to be back and safe and pleased – if a little sunburnt on her forehead and cheeks – but she desperately needed to hear it from Anna herself.

“Nice enough. A little fussy. He stammers,” she added, offhand. “The funeral went on for ages, though. I did consider taking a stake with me just to make sure”

“Anna!”

“I didn’t!”

“No,” put in Kristoff. “I took it off her.”

Not sure whether to be exasperated or not, Elsa did her best to give her sister a stern look, but she was hardly in the mood for it and Anna was grinning to herself anyway. “Oh,” she settled for, “you are terrible.”

“Hey, if I just happened to be wearing a cross at the funeral, no-one can blame me for it.”

“I wondered where my silver cross had gone.”

“I like silver.”

“ _I_ like silver,” Elsa corrected her. “You consider jewellery to be something to fidget with first, and an actual accessory second. Did she really wear the cross?” she added, with a glance back to Kristoff. He and Cinderella were walking on either side of Sven, who was also a little unsteady on his feet and would occasionally stagger into one or the other of them.

Kristoff gave a world-weary nod. “She wore the cross.”

“Don’t worry,” said Anna. “I checked the ground the next day. Pretty sure that it hadn’t been disturbed.”

“Well, when we hear of the appearance of revenants in Weselton, we will know who missed the first signs.” Elsa gave up and joined in the teasing, giving Anna a nudge with her elbow along the way. She sighed. “Oh, I am glad to have you back.”

“Sounds like you’ve been having some adventures of your own. And–” she stopped abruptly, turned to face Elsa, and put her hands on her hips. “And I wasn’t here to take care of you! Who took care of you?”

Hopefully, Elsa was not blushing. “I do _have_ a handmaiden,” she said.

Pure astonishment crossed Anna’s face. She turned to stare at Cinderella, who looked up from propping up Sven and whose face became composedly blank when she saw Elsa’s sister staring at her.

“And unlike some Lords, _I_ can tell my arse from my elbow even without one, so no, I was not overworking her,” added Elsa quickly. When Anna gave a huff of acceptance, Elsa saw the relief that flickered across Cinderella’s face. What her poor handmaiden could have thought had been said just before she looked up, Elsa was not sure that she wanted to guess.

“So, wait, you could still–” Anna began.

“Not discussing this in public.”

“Right, yes, public. Sorry,” said Anna. She allowed Elsa to take her firmly by the arm once again. “Sorry about that. Oh! In my trunk, there’s this _really_ long letter from the new Duke. He said it was for you but I read like half of it, but it’s not really all that interesting. All about low-level trade or something, truth be told he seemed a bit nervous about it all.”

Not only had Weselton been Arendelle’s largest partner in trade; Arendelle had been Weselton’s. Arendelle’s first turn had been to Corona, not least when Lord Rapunzel proved to be not at all fazed by the magic which Elsa had displayed. Corona was a rich country and a long-standing ally, the more recent intermarriage only making the tie stronger. They also had no fear of Weselton, but Rapunzel had mentioned that the Weseltonian ambassador had withdrawn from their country, and that trade on that line had dropped off.

“Did that have anything to do with the suspicious lack of Weseltonian ships in the Skagerrak?” said Elsa. In order to trade outside the Baltic, ships had to go through the Skagerrak, and she was fairly sure that trade had not increased between Weselton and the Southern Isles.

Anna did her best expression of innocence. “Why, do you think that his ships might have been nervous passing under the eye of the Snow Lord?”

It might almost have been an insult, but Elsa could not help a snort of laughter instead at the thought. “They missed the fact that the castle is a hundred leagues north of the Skagerrak, then?”

“You’re just that terrifying,” said Anna simply, holding her straight face for only a few seconds before dissolving into laughter as well.

And all was well again. Because her sister was safe and back and whole, and they were together again. But even more than that, in Anna’s absence she had learnt more about herself, and learnt more about her world. For a moment, Elsa looked back over her sister’s shoulder to catch Cinderella’s eye and share a smile, just between the two of them.

Which was all that there needed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sorry again, Duke of Weselton. I was going to make a garlic joke, but garlic wasn't really popularised until Dracula, some years later. But stakes were fairly well-known in folklore before that.


End file.
